


Mass Effect: Interceptor

by mothbanquet



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Romance, Asari/Human Relationship(s), Conspiracy, Drama, Espionage, First Contact War, Interspecies Relationship(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Quarian/Human Relationship(s), Relationship(s), Romance, Thriller, Turian/Human Relationship(s), Turians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 313,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothbanquet/pseuds/mothbanquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months before the events of Mass Effect, a crucial summit is due to be held between the Citadel Council and the human Systems Alliance. On this important day, a young turian named Arlen Kryik is recruited into an elite C-Sec unit known as the Interceptors, a small cadre of agents responsible for hunting wanted fugitives throughout the galaxy.</p><p>Partnered with veteran agent Garrus Vakarian as part of the summit's security detail, Arlen quickly becomes embroiled in a terrorist plot to destroy the Council and reignite tensions between the turian and human races. </p><p>Nothing is as it seems, however and as Arlen and his C-Sec comrades race to uncover the truth, one of the Council's oldest enemies watches from the shadows...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Six months before the events of Mass Effect..._

 

Turians never break.

The words were first spoken to Arlen by his father when he was only a child and had become a talisman of sorts. They were not a physical barrier. They did not protect him from bullets or blows but they often gave him comfort when he felt distressed and shored up his courage when he needed it the most.

His father also taught him the breathing exercises meant to calm himself in times of stress, though they did little to sooth Arlen’s fraying nerves at that moment.

He inhaled the cool, sweet air of the Presidium again and again, feeling his chest push tightly against his armour. The suit's black and blue panels were polished until free of blemish, and they heaved with every steady movement.

Conscientiously, Arlen brushed off his forearms and began to silently rehearse his cleverly formulated speech, the one with which he would greet his new commanding officer and convince him of his worth.

The C-Sec executor was known as a hard man to impress and Arlen’s jaw moved slightly as he mouthed the words he would speak, his eyes wandering from side to side absently as he toyed with different phrases.

His mental preparations were interrupted as the door slid aside to reveal Executor Pallin at his desk. The old turian's skin was dark and mottled, and his stark white face paint flashed brightly as he worked.

Arlen swallowed and took a few smart steps forward before halting sharply.

'Arlen Kryik, reporting for duty, Sir,' he said clearly before falling silent, awaiting a response.

Pallin did not lift his eyes from his terminal. His fingers continued to glide across the projected keypad, creating a symphony of beeps and clicks as Arlen shifted awkwardly on his feet. Finally, with a gruff sigh, the executor raised his head and leaned back in his chair. His blue eyes shifted in their dark sockets like small crystals, casting a judgmental gaze over his new recruit.

'How old are you, kid?' Pallin finally asked. His tone was not entirely one of disrespect but the words had a distinct, derisory bite.

Arlen's green eyes remained locked, staring at an undefined horizon, as they had been trained to do.

'Nineteen, Sir,' he answered. The words were devoid of all emotion, as they had been trained to be.

'Nineteen…' Pallin grunted, shaking his head, 'How many years' service? Three?'

'Two and a half, Sir.'

'Two and a half years…' Pallin repeated, again shaking his head in wonder, 'And you think you're ready to be a Citadel Security Interceptor?'

Arlen was unsure whether he should answer, so he did as all recruits were expected in such a situation and kept his mouth firmly shut.

'What exactly do you know about the Interceptors, boy?' asked Pallin, appraising the recruit keenly.

'They’re Citadel Security agents, Sir, responsible for the apprehension of fugitives and other individuals wanted by the Council,' Arlen replied without hesitation, 'Alongside Special Response, they are C-Sec's most highly trained operatives, and are often directly responsible for the safety of the Council in times of emergency.'

'That's what the textbooks say,' Pallin said, 'Tell me what _you_ know about the Interceptors.'

Arlen opened his mouth to speak before realising he had nothing to say. The truth was he knew little of the agents beyond their reputation and in any case, he had been picked to join them, not the other way around.

The invitation had come so suddenly that he had not even had the time to look into their history, rank structure, even their current commander. Such things would need to be learned in advance if he were joining a new legion and Arlen felt naked without the facts.

'I didn't expect an answer, kid, so you can wipe that dumb look off your face,' Pallin muttered, 'You can't answer because you're not supposed to know anything about them. Their work isn’t exactly public knowledge. Interceptors are trained to capture the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals and bring them to justice. Their identities and tasks are highly classified, only known to myself and a handful of the highest-ranking individuals in Citadel space. Some call them the Spectres of C-Sec but…'

The executor's expression twisted into one of grim distaste and Arlen shifted his weight uncomfortably as Pallin's voice deepened.

'Interceptors always, _always_ answer to the law,' he said forcefully, as if trying to push the words into Arlen's skull, 'They capture their targets alive and ready to face justice in a Citadel court. If you think you'll be able to roam the galaxy doing what you please like the Spectres, think again.'

Arlen allowed himself a sharp blink, a brief flicker of his eyelids. He was well-used to the hard words of superior officers and like any good turian he absorbed it all without reaction, still and obedient.

'Interceptors have more freedom to operate than average investigators but their actions are accountable and anyone caught acting with disregard for C-Sec regulations will face the consequences in a military tribunal. They aren’t your standard C-Sec officers like you see out there,' Pallin said, tipping his head back to the balcony behind him, 'You won’t see them writing tickets or busting drunks. Interceptors are _usually_ hand-picked by myself and C-Sec's top echelon; named men who've faithfully served C-Sec for many years. In a lot of cases only their past experience has seen them through the job alive, which leads me to wonder why _you're_ here; a green-as-grass recruit without a single tour of duty under his belt.'

Arlen still said nothing, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on that interminable spot in the middle-distance. The balcony beyond Pallin overlooked a vast swathe of the Presidium and Arlen found himself calmed by the white curves of the architecture and splatters of lush vegetation lining the walkways.

'You were trained by your father, is that correct?'

The question broke through the tenuous serenity Arlen had found and he blinked, distracted. 'I'm sorry, Sir?'

'Your father,' the executor barked irritability, 'He was the one who gave you your...extensive training in hand-to-hand combat, am I right?'

'That's right, Sir.'

Pallin nodded slowly and his tone grew slightly more approving, 'That alone interests me more than anything else. Though I can't say I personally approve of your father's more... _controversial_ actions, he was respected by many, including myself.' He waved a hand. 'In any case, I recognise potential when I see it. You set personal combat records in boot camp, records established by your father himself.' He sighed. 'If old Renius could see you now, would he be proud?'

'I don't know, Sir,' Arlen admitted, 'I didn't know my father well.'

'No matter. We'll see how well you perform while under the supervision of one of our veteran officers and if he likes what he sees then we'll get you set up with a minder, ready for your first assignment.'

Pallin leaned forward and resumed his work, lost once again in the dull orange glow of his terminal.

'Unfortunately, we'll have to cut this interview short. The Council is holding a high priority hearing in only a few hours so I have my hands full. Give me your omni-tool and I'll give you your stamp. For now, I want you to report to Garrus Vakarian in C-Sec headquarters. He'll show you the ropes until you can stand on your own two feet.'

'Yes, Sir. Where can I find him?' Arlen asked, relieved to escape the office.

'He's been pulled from his current investigations and reassigned to the Joint Security Task Force. They're handling the Council's security detail during today’s hearing. He should be down in C-Sec headquarters. Just ask around, somebody will know where he is.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Arlen turned smoothly and had almost reached the door when Pallin spoke again, 'Kid...'

Arlen waited expectantly.

'Your stamp?' Pallin asked with no small amount of condescension. 

Blinking in embarrassment, Arlen stepped forward to receive Pallin's fingerprint on his omni-tool. The device beeped softly as it acknowledged the executor and Arlen nodded with satisfaction as his security clearance was approved.

'Thank you, Sir,' he said appreciatively.

Pallin did not answer and merely waved him away. For his part, Arlen was happy to oblige and he marched out of the office, almost gasping as the pressure left him.

Ensuring the door was firmly shut, he sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. His father's spirit must have been shaking its head at that moment. Arlen felt the sting of shame touch him as he pictured Pallin's expression of stern disapproval throughout the interview. The stamp had been the final straw and he shook his head slowly, mortified with himself. How could he allow such a simple thing to escape his notice and still expect to be treated with respect?

Slowly, the tension faded from his senses and clarity returned to his thoughts. He was being childish, he realised, and one thing of which his father would not approve was moping in self pity mere inches from the executor's door.

After taking a few moments to compose himself, Arlen pushed away from the wall made his way toward the wards.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The customs agent cursed loudly as another ship began docking procedures in a distant bay.

He scratched at the thin dusting of greying hair at his temples, a habit that always manifested itself when he was stressed, while all around him the bustle of the port grew into an incessant wall of noise that pressed on the small customs booth from all sides.

'Another bloody passenger transport,' he muttered to his colleague, who replied as one does when they have heard the same complaint a dozen times in one day.

 'Yes, Dale, another one,' a slim, middle-aged woman groaned before asking sardonically, 'Do you want to try and be a little more pleasant to this bunch?'

'They don't pay me to be pleasant, Fran,' Dale replied, his voice a mixture of frustration and resentment. He wiped the top of his balding head with the back of a sleeve, adding to the collection of damp stains on the cloth.

Long queues of people started to shuffle their way through the checkpoints, the latest herd to disembark the seemingly endless flotilla of passenger ships and he cared only for sending them on their way with the minimum of effort.

'Look at them,' he grumbled as he watched them approach, 'Five hundred extra bodies, all clamouring to be stuffed into this overcrowded pig sty of a station. It's enough to make you sick.'

Fran turned to him with a sour expression, her brow creased beneath a sweep of dark hair. 'Come on, that's unfair! A lot of these people are only here for the Council talks.' 

'You call them _people?_ ' Dale mocked, though there was little humour in his words.

Fran glanced at the group, noting the splashes of colour dotting the crowd as turians, asari and hanar walked among the humans.

She frowned at Dale irritably. 'Carry on making remarks like that and you'll find yourself on a pauper's flight out. Besides, you know how important these talks are going to be for all of us. They say the Council's going to grant the Alliance new powers and expansion rights on the borders, which means more jobs and more opportunities for people like us. Anyway, if you hate the Citadel so much why don't you just leave?'

'I will one of these days, believe me,' he answered.

Fran shook her head in exasperation. 'You know as soon as the rush dies down you'll be back to singing the station's praises again.'

The mass of people began to press through the checkpoint gates and a cacophony of beeps and alarms rose as scanners were tripped. Those who didn't set them off began to trickle through in small drabs while those who did grumbled as their persons were searched by waiting officers.

‘Thank God for the bloody scanners, otherwise it'd take all day to see them all,’ Dale mumbled to himself as the first of the passengers arrived at the booth and the loud voices of the customs officers rose over the crowd.

Dale narrowed his eyes as a bold, muscular turian approached, his grey features tinted with bright red paint. Slowly, the turian made his way to the booth before setting down a heavy case and handing over an ID card. Arching his eyebrows pompously, Dale scanned the card with a flick of his wrist.

'Your business in the Citadel, Mister…Siracus?' he asked, glancing at the scrolling reams of information on his terminal screen.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Crixus Nantia smiled at the human customs agent, his calm exterior hiding a glow of satisfaction at the success of the counterfeit ID. 

The journey had been a long one, the ship he’d travelled on thick with the moist heat of bodies. It was an exquisite relief to finally step into the open spaces of the Citadel, though it heralded the beginning of challenges far greater than an uncomfortable space voyage.

'I am a close associate of General Septimus Oraka,' he finally replied warmly, 'I'm here for his retirement party.'

'Do you have anything to declare?' the human sighed, tedium clearly getting the better of his manners.

'No.'

The officer paused and eyed Crixus warily, his eyes travelling down to the case at his feet.

'Are you sure?' he asked suspiciously.

Crixus smiled again and tilted his head coyly, keeping his nerve. 'A gift for General Septimus.'

Again the human raised a thin eyebrow and looked at the case. Crixus scratched the back of his neck in feigned embarrassment and chuckled nervously.

'For his meetings with Lady Sha'ira. I'm afraid I can't say any more, I hope you understand.'

Crixus stood amused as the human’s expression shifted, alternating between confusion and shocked realisation, then finally settling on meek servitude. Grinning apologetically, he handed the card back to Crixus and gestured to the exit.

'Well, we wouldn't want to keep the general waiting now, would we? Please go on ahead, Mister Siracus and please pass on our warmest regards to General Septimus.'

'Thank you,' Crixus acknowledged politely and picked up his case in a strong grip.

As he strode through the large exit and into the Citadel proper his friendly demeanour darkened instantly, and he walked with a dogged determination through the shifting crowds of travellers. They were all cattle to him, blissfully unaware of the predator that stalked amongst them.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen winced, frowning at his inability to scratch an itch on his neck. While he remained at attention there was little else his mind could focus on and the minutes passed slowly as scores of blue-clad officers streamed by.

Above him, the main hall of C-Sec headquarters towered, hundreds of floors of azure-tinted windows stretching up into the depths of the station while crystalline tubes ran their length, shadows of elevators flitting briefly inside.

It was all a staggering spectacle to Arlen, though he didn't have time to enjoy it as he waited for the duty officer to register his presence.

The human at the desk shifted, his feet propped up lazily as he leaned back in his chair. Arlen glanced at his waxy, sallow skin and sunken eyes set under a bare scalp that was spotted with dark moles.

The human looked like he had been living at the desk for months without sleep and Arlen glanced in irritation at the name on the duty roster, projected in bright blue lettering; _Duty Officer: Harkin._

'You just 'gonna stand there all day?' Harkin asked suddenly, not even bothering to lift his gaze from the terminal.

The whisper of a noisy crowd rose from the desk and Arlen clenched a fist in outrage. The man was watching sports while on duty, a grievous lack of discipline that would have earned him a serious charge had he been in the legions.

Arlen would not show the same lack of honour and he responded formally, 'Just awaiting orders, Sir. Arlen Kryik reporting for duty, I'm looking for Garrus Vakarian.'

Harkin lifted his attention from the terminal for an instant and a broad smirk crossed his lips.

'Yeah, yeah, you're the new kid. Man, they weren't lyin' about your age. For a second there I thought you were just here to scrub out the filters with the other duct rats.'

Arlen's breathing grew deep as his frustration mounted. He did not know what a 'duct rat' was but he was sure it was not a compliment.

'Garrus Vakarian?' he repeated firmly.

'He's down the hall, third door on your right,' the human replied and Arlen could have sworn his sneer had widened. 'Just be careful of that one, kid.'

'What do you mean?' Arlen asked cautiously.

Harkin seemed to come alive at the opportunity to badmouth a colleague and he lowered his voice while looking cagily from side to side, 'Garrus is…well, he's not all there if you know what I mean. Something happened a while back. Something involving a suspect. I don't know the details but ever since, Garrus has been on edge, you see. No telling what he'll do.'

Straightening once more, Arlen nodded politely though he did not lend much weight to Harkin's words. Those like him had a tendency to speak ill of others to disguise their own failures.

'Well, kid,' Harkin continued as his eyes returned to the screen, 'If you're done then I'll ask you to get the hell outta my sight. I've already lost fifty creds on this game and I don't need you here bringin' down my luck even more.'

Arlen quickly saluted and wandered down the hall, eager to be away.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The pistol lay in pieces on the desk, pointedly set aside from the paperwork and datapads scattered across the workspace.

Garrus Vakarian's brow was knotted in deep concentration as he traced the contours of the barrel assembly, taking the time to carefully check for signs of damage or fatigue before moving on to the sear and hammer, ensuring the movement was smooth and free of obstruction.

With an almost mechanical efficiency he ran his eyes over each and every component of the weapon, each one as well known to him as parts of his own body. Each motion was tested and tested again. Every surface was probed and examined.

Although his small office was constantly filled with the murmur of outside conversations or the feral cries of those being brought into custody, it was the sound of approaching footsteps that finally gave Garrus pause.

Setting down the barrel assembly with an annoyed huff, he turned to find a young turian waiting patiently and obediently at the open door.

'What's the charge, officer?' Garrus asked.

Arlen blinked in surprise at the joke. 'Garrus Vakarian, Sir?' he asked nervously, bracing his body to attention in the narrow doorway and wincing slightly as his armoured elbows caught the sides, 'My name is Arlen Kryik. Executor Pallin told me to report to you.'

'Oh, right, the new kid,' Garrus said, his mood brightening instantly. He stood to shake Arlen's hand. 'They told me you were dropping by. I take it this is your first time out of the academy?'

'That's right,' replied Arlen, relieved to have someone finally speak to him like an adult, 'I never realised how little of the Citadel I'd actually seen until now. I like it so far though, definitely a lot more lively than Edessa.'

'I should have guessed,' Garrus grunted as he looked over Arlen's facial markings.

Like all turians who hailed from Edessa, Arlen sported a dark burgundy carapace etched with a symmetrical white pattern that framed every recess of his face. It was something to which all turians first looked when judging their fellows and Arlen was not surprised to see Garrus do the same.

'Well, you should fit in a little better here than in the military,’ Garrus went on, ‘C-Sec takes all kinds. When I was in your shoes the guys in boot camp didn't care too much for colonials.'

'They still don't,' Arlen answered regretfully, 'but they're a little less vocal about it than they used to be, or so I’m told.'

'Even so, I bet Pallin gave you a hard time,' Garrus said with a small grin.

Chuckling, Arlen relaxed, leaning against the frame of the door. 'Yeah, he was a little patronising about my age and all but hey, it's no worse than I got in the C-Sec academy and even that place was a vacation next to boot camp.'

'I remember my academy days,' Garrus laughed, 'Barely. I lost count of the number of push-ups they made me do for arguing with the instructors. Hell, I should've been kicked out for some of the stunts I used to pull. Is that old bastard Ashler still there?'

Arlen nodded and Garrus smiled at distant memories.

'For a human he wasn't half bad, could take the hump off a krogan at a thousand paces.'

Shaking his head, Garrus cleared his throat and invited Arlen into the office with a subtle motion.

Arlen took a few steps before realising there was no seat and after a moment of looking around in puzzlement, he perched on the edge of a low table set against the wall of the office, pausing guiltily at the rustle of paper from beneath his backside.

'Don't worry about that,' Garrus reassured him, 'I never keep the hard copies. They always seemed pointless when we do everything over the extranet anyway. So,' he said, nodding to his pistol, 'what do you know about the Striker II, Arlen?'

'It's an ERCS manufactured sidearm,' Arlen stated flatly, 'Standard self-powered miniature mass drive, cyclic rate of over thirteen-hundred.'

'Well quoted. You ever used one before?'

'No, but it's almost identical to the Kessler, right?'

'Almost, but the difference is in the stopping power,' Garrus replied, 'The Striker packs a nice punch but that extra kick means it'll feel totally different to what you're used to. It'll be your standard issue and you'll need some time in the ranges to appreciate the difference.'

Garrus' enthusiasm for firearms clearly gave his words energy, though Arlen did not understand why. They were just tools to him, nothing more, nothing less.

‘You really know your guns,’ he said, ‘I feel a little inadequate now, having only handled the basics.’

Garrus grunted. ‘Pallin always said if I was as thorough with my investigations as my weapons training, I'd have made captain by now. He probably has a point.’ He fell silent, his eyes turning to the disassembled pistol on his desk. 'Come to think of it,' he said, his mood growing serious, 'How about a little game? Put my weapon back together. I want to see for myself if you know what you're doing.'

He slid from his chair and allowed Arlen to sit while he folded his arms, watching eagerly. A hush seemed to fall over the small room as Arlen's eyes quickly scanned over the components and he began his work.

Seconds passed and Garrus nodded with silent approval at the sequence of metallic taps as the pieces slotted together, his mandibles twitching with satisfaction as he heard the slide fall into position with barely a whisper.

'There,' Arlen announced, holding the intact pistol up to his eyes in a two handed grip, feeling the bulk of it in his palms. Garrus was right, he found. The Striker was much heftier than the Kessler and it felt odd having to compensate for the extra weight.

'All right,' said Garrus, his voice a sudden bark of authority, 'Now make it ready.'

'What?' Arlen responded in disbelief.

Garrus spoke again, his tone growing hard, 'Make the weapon ready and point it at me, Arlen.'

Arlen frowned but his instinct to follow orders compelled him to press the small button on the right side of the weapon. He felt the pistol vibrate softly as it readied a round to be fired and sensed a distinct warmth beneath his fingers as the mass accelerator began to cycle.

'Point the weapon at me,' Garrus repeated, his mandibles shifting as Arlen brought the pistol to bear, 'Now pull the trigger.'

'What? Are you insane?' Arlen cried in desperation.

Garrus simply stared into the barrel of the pistol, his expression unreadable. 'Fire the weapon,' he repeated, 'That's an order.'

His horror mounting, Arlen shook his head and tried to lower the pistol but his superior's cold gaze held it in place. He couldn't believe Garrus truly wanted him to fire but somewhere within the young turian an instinct took hold and processed the order in spite of his dismay.

He felt it as an itch, one that became unbearable as the seconds ticked away until it overwhelmed him.

Harkin’s words came to mind, his warning that Garrus may have been unstable and Arlen cursed himself for dismissing it so readily.

The moment seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before Arlen's finger finally curled around the trigger and squeezed. As he drew it back, he could only close his eyes in sheer despair as he awaited the shot.

Arlen's eyes snapped open. There was not so much as a whimper from the pistol.

Slowly, he tilted it to one side and observed the blue light indicating a round in the chamber. He could only stare in utter confusion as Garrus grinned and took the Striker from his shaking grip.

'It won't fire without this,' he said smugly as he held up a tiny piece of blue circuitry, 'The ZEI filter,' he explained, 'Without it the mass accelerator won't function properly and all you're left with is a useless piece of metal the size of a grain of sand rattling inside the chamber.'

Feeling somewhat humiliated, Arlen grudgingly relinquished the weapon and sank into the seat behind him.

Garrus chuckled and clasped a hand over the shoulder of his armour. 'That was lesson number one. In this galaxy, even people you trust can turn on you in the blink of an eye. Never accept anything at face value, because out there you'll see scum who’d hand over their own mothers to batarian slavers, just to make a quick credit. Use your instincts and never leave anything to chance, understood?'

'It would have been simpler to just tell me,' Arlen complained angrily. He could not see the value in Garrus' blunt deception and it was not something that would have been tolerated in either the military or the C-sec academy.

'And miss that look on your face?' Garrus retorted with a wide smile, 'Come on, we've got a briefing to get to and then we'll get you a pistol of your own down in the armoury. You'll need it too; something tells me we've got a busy day ahead of us.'

Still unnerved by Garrus' ruse, Arlen stood and followed his new mentor out of the office and into the hectic atmosphere of the main hall, hoping that as the day wore on he would not embarrass himself any further.


	2. Chapter 2

I'Layna folded the councillor's freshly cleaned dress and carefully placed it with the others in the cupboard, taking the time to press any folds from the shimmering material.

The young asari took great care in her work as the councillor's aide and after serving her mistress for over seventy years she had no qualms about performing tasks more menial than administration.

'Sit down I'Layna,' Councillor Tevos said softly from across the room as she eyed her reflection in a large mirror, 'You don't have to wait on me hand and foot.'

Stepping back from the cupboard, I'Layna could see Tevos’ deep violet skin was flushed with guilt, the delicate patterns on her forehead glinting above a troubled expression.

I'Layna smiled and shook her head. 'It’s perfectly all right mistress. You know I like to occupy myself.'

The councillor turned back to the mirror and I’Layna watched as she observed her reflection, noting any weaknesses in her well-honed poise and mannerisms. In just a few hours Tevos would join her fellow Council members in one of the most important sessions they’d held in many years. The slightest flaw would doubtlessly be seized upon and impact upon the authority of not only the Council but the asari people as a whole. It was an enormous burden, one that I’Layna knew took a hard toll on her mistress.

'Are you feeling well, Councillor?' I'Layna asked, 'You seem much more anxious than usual. Is something wrong?'

'Not at all,' Tevos replied, forcing a weak smile, 'Though it would make me feel much better if you’d stop fussing over my things. Go and relax for a few hours, please. For me.'

Reluctantly, I'Layna closed the cupboard with the push of a button and made her way to the door. Glancing back to the councillor, her eyes shone with heartfelt concern.

Her mistress was so powerful, so dominant when in front of the rich and influential. Her words could change the minds and cut through the wills of so many yet it was during these quiet moments that I'Layna saw Tevos’ true self; a vulnerable and lonely soul, both dedicated and resigned to her role as an adjudicator of the galaxy.

'Very well, mistress. If you need me I will be nearby,' I'Layna said formally.

Tevos glanced at her aide and with a brief nod, dismissed her from the room.

The door closed with a hiss behind I'Layna and she sighed sadly. It upset her to see Tevos so distressed yet she’d learned a long time ago to allow the councillor space when she desired it. Letting out a deep breath, I'Layna turned her mind to the rest of the day and the innumerable tasks that needed to be done before the Council hearing.

The vast hallways of Citadel Tower's residence chambers yawned around her, enveloping her in a rich cyan light as she made her way to the main elevator. The luxurious suites housed many of the tower's staff, from the Council members and their assistants to the hundreds of support personnel for Citadel Control.

It was a staggering feat of architecture, one that never ceased to amaze I’Layna. That the ancient protheans could imagine, let alone build such a place was nothing short of unbelievable.

Her mind wandered as she listened to her footsteps echo through the empty corridor, so much that she yelped in surprise as she crashed into a large, bulky figure walking the other way.

The man swore as he dropped a heavy-looking case, which thumped on the ground with a resounding bang. I’Layna held a hand to her head and looked up to see a turian standing over her, his frame stocky and powerful, with a face inked in webs of red. It lent him a frightening appearance.

The turian hesitated before extending a hand, helping I’Layna as she struggled awkwardly to her feet.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

I'Layna hurriedly dusted herself off and grinned meekly. 'Yes, thank you. I'm not used to seeing anyone else around here, so I was off in my own little world. I am so sorry.'

'Forget about it,' he said dismissively, waving a hand. He seemed oddly tense as he bent to pick up the case and for a moment I’Layna feared she had injured him in her clumsiness.

'I don't think we’ve met,' she said amicably, offering her hand in greeting, 'My name is I'Layna Naris. I work for the Council as an aide and assistant to Councillor Tevos. I don't believe I've seen you around here before, mister…?'

The turian paused and gave her a suspicious look. His mandibles moved slowly and his pale eyes remained locked on hers, as if he were considering whether or not to respond.

He lifted the case with a hefty grunt and his reply was strained under its weight, 'Siracus,' he said brusquely, taking I’Layna’s hand in a firm grasp and shaking it roughly, 'Antus Siracus. I'm...with the utilities and maintenance committee, just carrying out some essential repairs to the heating systems. Can't hold these Alliance-Council negotiations if everyone's an ice cube, after all.'

'Isn't that what the keepers are for?' I'Layna asked, puzzled.

'Usually, yeah but...for some reason they haven't picked up on the problem.' He shifted and gave I’Layna a stiff, uncomfortable smile. 'That's the thing about the keepers. Just when you think you know them they do something completely unpredictable. Strange, huh?'

I'Layna smiled and nodded her agreement before looking down at the case. She noted the turian’s slouching gait and odd stiffness and knew that she surely must have hurt him somehow. Perhaps he was as most turians were; too proud and formal to ask for help. Either way, she could not let him carry his burden by himself.

'That looks heavy. Would you like some help?' she asked.

'No, that's all right,' the turian said quickly, his smile disappearing. He sucked in a hard breath and edged away as I’Layna took a step toward him.

'No, no, please, I insist,' she pressed, taking a step forward to grasp one of the handles, ‘It’s obviously difficult for you and I wouldn’t feel right about letting you-’

She was not prepared for the arm that snapped out to block her path and she stared open-mouthed at the turian’s hand as it pressed roughly against her chest, warding her off.

'I'm in a hurry, lady,' he snarled menacingly. He held the case away from his body, just out of I’Layna’s reach and his eyes blazed with anger. 'Just...let me do my job, all right? I don’t need your help and I sure as hell don't have time for this crap!'

I'Layna was taken aback, her blue eyes shimmering with quiet shock as the turian pushed past her and continued down the corridor.

Something pulled at her mind, a nagging doubt that would not let go. It was more than the snap in the turian’s voice, or how quickly his mood had changed. There had been something in his eyes, a malice that she could feel every bit as palpably as the hand that stopped her drawing too close.

With a deep breath, I'Layna allowed him to slip out of sight before following carefully, her footsteps padding in soft whispers through the hall.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'It's your turn,' Milo murmured, his smooth voice pouring into Lorica's ears. Slowly, he draped his arms over her shoulders and leaned close, allowing his lips to grace the soft blue skin of her neck. 

'Not now, Milo!' the asari giggled as she felt her seat creak under their combined weight, 'I'll think of something later, I promise.'

Around them, the command centre of C-Sec’s Joint Security Task Force buzzed with activity, the air thick with the chiming of omni-tools and rushed conversations of dozens of agents and support staff. Large monitors adorned the walls while multiple tiers of bustling analysts pored over their terminals, running reports and communicating with C-Sec officers on the ground.

It was an exciting atmosphere and yet Milo's overtures seemed to quieten everything around Lorica, subduing all her senses and calming her thoughts. The feeling was no less incredible than it had been when she’d first met the young human only months before.

'Oh come _on_ ,' Milo whined playfully, letting the bristles of his beard brush against her neck, 'You promised! It's your turn to think of something today.'

Lorica laughed and brought a slender arm up to caress the side of his face. 'Well, since you only went and made me come to work without any…'

She paused as her cheeks flushed and her lover gave a mischievous grin.

'So think of it as an opportunity for revenge,' he said teasingly.

The sharp sound of a throat being cleared brought them back to reality. It was oddly distorted; the light tone of a young woman made almost robotic as it was forced through helmet amplifiers.

The pair broke their contact immediately as Lina'Gerrel Nar Korshan stood over them, her fingers drumming lightly against her hips. Even behind the dark grey glass of her visor, it was obvious the quarian's eyes burned with fierce disapproval.

'This isn't the time, you two,' she snapped, the bright flashes of her mouth-lamp enforcing every syllable, 'The Council hearing will begin in less than two hours and we need everyone here to devote their full attention to their work, not grope each other like hormone-ridden teenagers.'

Her stern words bit into Lorica and the asari glowered at Lina with barely veiled contempt. How dare the quarian speak to her in such a manner, being nothing more than a child - a quarian child at that? Lorica’s mouth opened to snap a vicious response but she was silenced by the touch of Milo's hand on her shoulder.

'Sorry, Lina,' he said as earnestly as he could. His brown eyes travelled the length of her shapely physique, made all the more so by the figure-hugging environment suit she was forced to wear. 'It won't happen again, all right?'

Lina nodded succinctly and turned away, unaware of the way his gaze lingered on her body as she strode off.

Huffing haughtily, Lorica tucked a hand under her chin and propped her elbow on the desk, idly turning to her terminal. 'Give a quarian a team lead job and it doesn’t take long for them to treat everyone else like their own personal geth slaves. The way she talks to us, you'd think she was the executor or something.'

'Aw come on, she's not all that bad,' Milo replied as he gave Lorica’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, 'She just gets a little uppity when the pressure's on. Besides,' he added, allowing his lips to rest on the delicate curves of Lorica's head, 'at the end of the day you still have me, right? So don't feel too bad.'

A triumphant smirk spread Lorica's lips and Milo’s gentle kiss sent a ripple of pleasure through her body. She did not see his eyes drift across to Lina once more as the quarian walked briskly to greet a pair of newcomers.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Garrus!' a voiced cried out in delight. 

Arlen lifted his head to discern who was calling out to them, and from a stream of wandering C-Sec staff a strange alien emerged, a woman - that much was clear from her figure - clad in a blue and black envirosuit.

It could only have been a quarian, one of the nomadic people from outside Citadel space, though her presence in C-Sec itself, let alone the secretive Joint Security Task Force begged more questions than Arlen could contain. Quarians had the reputation of troublemakers and vagrants, and were not even considered a Council race.

He glanced inquiringly at Garrus, only to find him already moving toward the quarian, his mandibles flexing in glee.

‘It’s good to see you, Lina,’ Garrus exclaimed as he shook his friend’s outstretched hand with great enthusiasm, 'It's been far too long.'

'Far longer than I'd like,’ Lina replied, ‘and with all the problems we’ve been having just getting JSTF up and running, the days haven’t gotten any shorter.’

‘So I hear. How’ve things been these past few months?'

'Busy, busy, busy,' Lina said, waving her hand, 'It's been a nightmare. With all the politics and inter-divisional drama, getting our hands on personnel has been difficult to say the least. It doesn’t matter if the order comes from the executor or the Council themselves, if you try and allocate staff from Network or Investigation they’ll make it seem like drawing blood from an asteroid. Then there’s the command centre. As if software compatibility issues and faulty field gear weren't bad enough, we've had serious problems with the keepers wandering in and interfering with our hard-wired systems. And don't even get me started on the staff.'

Her last words were accompanied with a subtle glance in the direction of two others, and Arlen pursed his brow at the sight of a young human and an asari. They were speaking with intimate - not to mention obvious - familiarity, and he knew instantly why Lina was frustrated. Fraternisation was all well and good but there was a time and place for everything.

To Arlen’s private shock, Garrus only shook his head in amusement. 'You know, for the only quarian on the Citadel, you really know how to boss people around. Hell, I'd go so far as to say you'd be running this place if you were turian. It's hard to picture you as that shy girl C-Sec took under their wing a year ago.'

'Stop shaking your head like that, you patronising bastard,' she joked, giving him a playful slap on his armoured chest, 'While you're at it, are you going to introduce us?'

Garrus chuckled and looked at Arlen. 'Lina, meet Arlen Kryik. I’ll be taking him on patrol over the next few months, until he loses his baby teeth.'

'Well, you're in good hands, Arlen,' said Lina as she turned to the young recruit, 'May I ask which division you'll be joining?'

Arlen stalled before a single word could leave his lips, and he threw a questioning glance at Garrus.

'She's equal to you in rank, if that's what you're wondering,' Garrus said reassuringly before murmuring to Lina, 'Don't mind him, he's just fresh off the parade ground. Still afraid to put a foot wrong in front of a superior. It takes every turian a while to get out of that frame of mind after the academy.'

'Ah, I see. I trust then that your military training won't be wasted in your new role?' she asked.

Again, Arlen found himself reluctant to answer. Something was missing, something that gnawed at his conscience but the longer he remained silent, the more convinced he was that he was making a fool of himself. His dark lips curled and twitched as he tried to force something, _anything_ from his mouth.

'Are you all right?' Garrus queried with genuine concern.

Arlen bowed his head to Lina in a gesture of humility. 'I'm...I'm sorry but I've…well that is I didn't expect to see…'

'See a quarian here?' Lina finished for him, laughing quietly at his discomfort, ‘I’m sorry, but I think that’s a first for me. Most on the Citadel have little trouble expressing their opinions of my people.

'Y-yes, I can imagine,' stammered Arlen as he tried to salvage something of his dignity, 'Not that I agree with what people say about quarians, I mean I don't know any but… Please excuse me, I apologise, I'm just not used to dealing with aliens. It's…I mean, I've spoken to a salarian before, and a few asari and humans at the academy, but I'm…'

'What Arlen is _trying_ to say,' said Garrus, clapping a hand on his shoulder, 'is that he's joining the Interceptors when the time comes. He'll be out travelling the galaxy while we're stuck here filing paperwork.'

'My, that is quite the achievement. I didn't realise they recruited from outside of C-Sec ranks? I thought they only took people from Special Response or Investigation?'

Arlen frowned. He had no idea that he was a special case in any aspect other than his youth but there was no time to question the revelation as a sudden hush fell upon the command centre.

All heads turned toward the middle of the room, where a large dais stood elevated above the sea of desks. The platform glowed with a sudden, golden brilliance as a multitude of amber terminal displays flared into existence along its outer railing. A silhouette emerged, casting a shadow across the entire centre and one by one, the terminals dimmed.

Arlen stared at the figure standing above them all, revealed as the glare steadily subsided.

He was tall for a turian, with a sandy-coloured carapace that contrasted with his black and blue C-Sec armour. He leaned over to murmur to someone nearby and splashes of white paint highlighted his mandibles as they moved back and forth. After a few moments, the turian raised his head and stood rigidly, looking out upon his subordinates with cold green eyes.

His voice was deep, filling the command centre easily, 'Good morning, everyone. For those who've just joined us, I am Commander Chellick, assigned to JSTF as head of operations for the duration of the Council-Alliance talks. It's a little different from chasing leads in the wards, but I hope to prove myself a good choice for the position.'

A few subtle whispers rose from the crowd and he continued, pacing around the dias to address everyone he could.

'As you well know, the Council is holding high-profile negotiations with the human Systems Alliance in only a few hours. Many high-ranking dignitaries and officials are due to attend, including Ambassador Udina, the Alliance's top man in the embassy. The Council in their entirety will also be there, obviously and we’re all aware of what this is about. A whole string of new star systems have opened up and the Alliance wants in on the deal. Only problem is, many of the colonial territories are contested by either the Turian Hierarchy or the Batarian Hegemony. While the batarians don’t have any legal claim in the eyes of the Council, this still means a high level of risk, both for the Citadel and the Alliance. Needless to say, we're getting reports in by the minute of some group or other plotting to blow Citadel Tower sky high. It's our job to make sure that doesn't happen.'

Arlen swallowed hard, suddenly aware he was not just accompanying Garrus on a meaningless patrol. He was at the very centre of galactic politics - and all the danger it inevitably attracted.

A seated human raised his hand above his head and Chellick acknowledged him with a nod. ‘Yes, Milo, what is it?’

'Have we had any specific intel relating to an attack, Sir?’ Milo called out, ‘How great is the risk?'

'We've received only the standard threats so far,' Chellick answered as he paced around the platform, 'All we can do is remain vigilant and do our jobs to the best of our abilities. The Joint Security Task Force was formed to identify and close down threats to the Council as quickly as possible, to prevent disasters before they can happen. In the short time we’ve been operational, this team has thwarted more than a dozen major terrorist attacks and saved countless lives. I know that with so many bright and talented individuals here today, the Council’s safety is as good as assured.'

The encouragement went a long way to soothing the nerves of some of the more inexperienced team members and Arlen bobbed his head slowly in appreciation. The JSTF commander was a charismatic one, a quality not often seen in turian leaders and Arlen watched Chellick as he placed his hands behind his back, his voice ringing with finality.

'Now it's time to put these words into action. Briefing files have been forwarded to your terminals and in the case of field agents, your omni-tools. All teams are to report to their respective leads for detailed instructions. Let's make it happen, people.'

As if on cue, the command centre exploded into life and a sudden wave of conversation washed over Arlen, making him raise his voice to compete.

'I'm guessing you're my team leader?' he asked Garrus.

'Are you kidding?' Garrus scoffed, 'Don't let the speech fool you, Arlen, Chellick likes to keep a close eye on his assets. We'll be reporting directly to the command centre, especially if anything happens out there.'

'Hey, look on the bright side,' Lina interjected. Her jet-black suit squeaked softly as she folded her arms across her chest, the patches of blue on her shoulders and chest merging into one as the material creased. 'You’ll have to radio in reports constantly, so at least you won't be lonely out there. Nothing's worse than a boring first day on the job.'

Arlen opened his mouth to reply but hesitated at the sight of Chellick striding towards them. He straightened instinctively, though resisted the urge to spring to attention this time. It was difficult enough finding his place in a civilian organisation like C-Sec without making an overeager idiot of himself at every turn.

'Garrus, it's good to see you back at work,' Chellick remarked as he halted, 'I was concerned you wouldn't be able to join the team, considering the circumstances.'

Garrus' jaw tensed and he glared at the commander icily. The mutterings of passing colleagues crept in around them as a strange and palpable tension suddenly set in, one that Arlen did not understand.

'You know me, Chellick,' Garrus replied, his voice carefully measured, 'I don't let anything stop me from doing my job. Not even when there doesn't seem to be much point in doing it.'

Chellick smiled. 'Of course. Well, I think you'll find JSTF to be a more…fulfilling role for you. At least you won't have the pressure of all those difficult decisions hanging over your head.'

Lina cleared her throat gently, the sound drawing glances from all three turians. 'I'll go and set myself up,' she said before inclining her head slightly toward Arlen, 'It was nice to meet you. Best of luck with your first patrol.'

'Ah yes, Arlen Kryik.' Chellick's emerald eyes fixed on the recruit and he instantly offered a hand in greeting. 'I've heard a lot about you. Straight out of the academy? Well, I have every confidence in you. It'll be good to have an agent we can rely on to follow orders.'

Arlen shook Chellick hand yet he couldn't keep his eyes from Garrus, whose features were rigid with barely restrained anger.

To Arlen's astonishment, Garrus abruptly turned his back to them, storming out of the command centre without another word. Arlen's jaw hung open. To do such a thing to a superior officer was unheard of in the legions but Chellick did not seem to mind. Instead he watched Garrus leave with an unctuous grin, his mandibles twitching with keen interest.

'If I may be excused, Sir?' Arlen asked uncomfortably.

Dismissing the young turian with a wave of his hand, Chellick returned to the dias and gazed at the enormous screen that dominated the far wall of the command centre.

'This should be an interesting day,' he mused quietly as the screen blared to life, filling his eyes with various schematics and security feeds. 'A very interesting day indeed.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The air was musty with the scent of machine grease. It was little wonder so few people came down to the lower levels, I'Layna thought as she slunk through the darkened hallways. 

It was a grim, unpleasant place that did not share the elegance of the rest of Citadel Tower. Only keepers and the occasional engineer were permitted access to these areas and for that alone her suspicions of the turian Siracus were aroused, but the longer she stalked him, the further into the winding passageways he went.

The case he carried knocked rhythmically against his leg as he walked and when it stopped, she knew he'd reached his destination.

Slowly, I'Layna pressed herself into one of the smooth, pearl-hued walls and shuffled to the edge of a nearby corner, edging her eyes out just enough to see what lay beyond. The corridor was silent and she held her breath, afraid to make the slightest sound.

Beyond the corner, Siracus set down the case with a heavy thud before kneeling to open it. I'Layna's eyes widened as he pulled out an oddly-shaped tool that seemed to be meant only for the hands of his species, a saw from what she could tell. The blade was round, with jagged teeth made for biting into metal while along the top an angled tube sprouted a sharp blue flame. It hissed fiercely, making Siracus close his eyes against the sudden, intense heat.

A shrill screech tore through the corridors as the saw began its work. Siracus' red paint lit up, the cutting torch edging his face with lines of searing white. Sparks showered noisily from the wall, jetting out in golden torrents.

It lasted only seconds before he pulled free a large panel with a strained grunt and it fell clattering to the ground, the edges still glowing bright orange.

I'Layna leaned back against the corner as panic gripped her. She was now certain this man was no technician and her heart beat faster as he heaved his case into the newly-carved hole. A series of beeps and chimes sounded and every one of I'Layna's senses screamed at her to run.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Crixus' head snapped up. He had always relied on his exceptional instincts to keep him safe throughout the years and they warned him something was wrong.

He stared back the way he came and though nothing seemed amiss, he knew a way to be certain.

With a final look at the timer as it began its steady descent, he rose up and stepped away from the hole in the wall, his eyes hovering on the distant hallway junction.

He narrowed his gaze and raised his voice, 'Whoever it is, you can come out now. I know you're there.'

A gasp escaped, the sound almost inaudible and yet all too clear to Crixus' sharpened senses. He smiled tightly. 'You don't have to hide. I won't hurt you. Just show yourself and we’ll work something out.'

The silence stretched out as Crixus strained to catch another sound, another sign that he'd been followed. Something was indeed there; quivering breaths underlaid by the soft scraping of feet as they edged away. Crixus had heard it before many times in a dozen regions of the galaxy as he’d hunted his enemies to the last man.

His own steps matched the gentle sounds, moving closer to the corner with each passing second. Then it came - the sharp intake of breath that came before an explosion of effort.

Baring his teeth angrily, Crixus gave chase as he heard the feet of his eavesdropper pound the hallway ahead of him. He covered the ground almost instantly, rounding the corner to see the trace of a slim, blue-skinned figure disappear around the next junction. It could only have been the asari that he'd run into on the way there.

He cursed inwardly, wishing he'd silenced her while he could.

'You can't get away!' he called out as he ran, 'Make this easy on yourself and give up now!'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The turian's growling words reached I'Layna and their closeness sent another wave of horror through her, weakening her stride. Her lungs burned and her legs ached as they forced her reluctant body on. 

The corridors all looked the same and she wound through the maze in a stupor, blind shock her only guide. She could hear him growing closer, his panting breaths getting louder with each step.

With a frightened cry, she pulled herself through a nearby doorway and into a small utility room before hammering on the controls desperately.

'Come on, damn you!' she screamed as her hand met the haptic interface again and again without result. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, falling in sparkling drops as she pounded the lock button.

Finally, the door began to slide shut and I’Layna shrank back as the turian’s face emerged in the gap. With a furious snarl, he drew a pistol but the door snapped shut before he could bring it to bear.

I'layna jumped as a fist slammed into the door with a thud. She sank to her knees, sobbing loudly.

A dozen questions raced through her mind, clouding her thoughts and a terrible realisation dawned on her. She was trapped in that room and there was no way of escape. The door would only delay him at best and her cheeks grew wet with fresh tears.

It was then she recognised a soft shuffling sound coming from behind her. Cautiously, I'Layna peered over her shoulder and almost cried out with relief at the sight of an insect-like keeper operating a nearby terminal, seemingly unaware of I'Layna and her pursuer. Its smooth, murky green shell glistened, every bump and notch wrapped in the orange light of the terminal's interface.

With no time to worry about the penalty for disturbing the creature, I'Layna pushed it aside gently and the keeper seemed to obey, choosing to wait patiently as she used the terminal to open a communications channel.

'By the Goddess,' she whispered as she closed her eyes in desperate prayer, 'Please, _please_ let this work!'


	3. Chapter 3

Chellick's jaw moved slowly as he methodically chewed a piece of seasoned meat. Time was always short and he'd recently taken to breakfast in the form of the strips of cured jerky, though as it was he could barely taste anything at all. All of his senses were focused solely on the enormous monitor that swallowed the far wall of the command centre.

'Camera one-two-two. Reverse eighteen, hold,' he said with his mouth full, squinted as the picture sharpened. He swallowed his food and nodded at the screen. 'Right there.'

'Holding,' Milo replied from his desk in the middle tiers as he manipulated his terminal with honed precision, 'Two tags, one marked as blue.'

Chellick looked on as the main monitor filled with security footage of a densely knotted group of civilians milling near the main elevator to Citadel Tower. The identity markers in question referred to a pair of humans, appearing as two brightly coloured triangles laid over the footage.

Their positioning had looked conspicuous to Chellick's practised eye, though the identification of one as a plainclothes C-Sec officer eased his suspicions.

'Good,' he finally remarked, 'Send out a general notice to everyone in the area. They're there to be our eyes on the ground, not stand around chatting with their friends.'

'Roger, Sir,' Milo acknowledged with a smirk, 'I'll let them know the sewing circle is officially broken up.'

Chellick nodded, satisfied. He left the constant monitoring of security staff to his subordinates for the most part but he found it useful to take the occasional hand in the more mundane proceedings.

The command centre's main dais was designed as such, inspired as it was by the bridges of turian warships, with the captains occupying a raised platform to overlook their personnel. Even so, it was impossible for any one person to supervise all that went on in JSTF. The task force had access to every surveillance system on the Citadel and reports were fed into the centre by the second. Omni-tools would beep in alarm every minute as new pieces of high-level intel were received, piercing the constant hum of voices as analysts conversed with their peers or agents on the ground.

Chellick found comfort in the buzzing ambience. After working in a confined office hidden away in the filth of the wards for so many years, the opportunity to lead such a team was a refreshing challenge. Since he'd taken the assignment the feeling had only grown, and now he found himself hungry with an ambition he’d forgotten he possessed.

He took a deep draught of air through his nostrils and grimaced immediately as the smell of coffee entered his senses. He didn't know what humans saw in the stuff, especially if it tasted as rotten as it smelled.

'Chellick!' Lorica shouted.

He looked over his shoulder to find the asari standing over her desk with a worried expression. She held two fingers clamped over her communicator earpiece, pressing it into her flesh.

'We've got a priority transmission coming through from central,' she said, 'Get this - it's on a closed channel from inside Citadel Tower itself!'

'What? Are you sure?' Chellick asked, frowning. It was odd enough the transmission was coming from Citadel Tower but that it had been transferred to them by C-Sec's central control sent a pang of worry through him. It must have been deemed important enough to warrant their immediate attention. 'Who is it? The Council? One of the ground teams?'

'No,' she replied, 'The signal's weak but it's definitely coming from the tower's sub-levels, in the maintenance tunnels. There's a lot of interference, though. I can't get a fix on the location and I don't know how long they'll be able to transmit.'

'Establish a connection and put them on speaker,' Chellick ordered as he descended from the middle platform and briskly made his way to Lorica's desk.

The analyst worked fast, her fingers a blur as she tapped rapidly on the terminal's amber keypad. A moment later the air was filled with a harsh crackle and she worked furiously to refine the signal into something audible.

'Channel's open,' she said as Chellick drew alongside her, leaning over her desk.

'Attention, whoever this is,' he said sternly, 'This is the commander of C-Sec's Joint Security Task Force. Identify yourself immediately.'

A female voice, tinny and heavy with static, burst across the command centre and many looked up instantly as they were hit by her delirious panic, 'Hello? Can you hear me? Oh, thank the Goddess, I can't believe it! You can really hear me?'

'Yes, we can hear you,' Chellick replied, his impatience checked by the unmistakable terror in the woman's voice, 'Please, calm down and tell us who you are.'

'I'm sorry,' she said between deep, ragged breaths, 'My name is I'Layna Naris, I work for the Citadel Council. You have to help me, I'm in danger. He's right outside the door!'

'Who's outside the door?' asked Chellick, 'Who's after you?'

The room grew quiet in anticipation as I'Layna took a moment to try and compose. 'I'm...I'm not sure who he is. I only know he's a turian. I ran into him in the residence halls but something about him seemed odd so I followed him down here. I watched as he…he did something… He started cutting into the walls and…and…'

Chellick tensed. 'And _what_ , I'Layna? What did the turian do?'

'He…' she stammered, fear and disbelief stalling her as she tried to explain, 'He…put something in the wall, a box of some kind. I think it might have been a bomb or something because it suddenly started beeping. Then he saw me so I ran away, but now I'm trapped in here.'

Lorica and Chellick exchanged a look of terrified shock and the entire command centre grew silent. This was the real thing, they realised, a true terrorist threat - and the suspect had almost succeeded in carrying it out unnoticed.

Chellick closed his eyes. This witness was now their only lead on a confirmed attack and he needed as much information as possible.

'All right, I'Layna,' he said as calmly as he could, 'I need details. Where is this man now? Can you identify exactly where you are, where he planted the bomb?'

'I'm not sure,' she responded, 'When he chased me I just ran, I didn't pay attention to where I was going. I only know I'm in some kind of room, a maintenance storage bay by the looks of it. There are tools, lockers, nothing remarkable. As for the turian, I think he's still outside, he's…wait-'

The air stalled in Chellick's lungs as she hesitated and her voice plunged into fear once again, 'I hear something on the other side of the door, some kind of scratching! Is that an omni-tool?'

The noise could be heard faintly over the speakers and Lina immediately bounded across the room, taking position at Lorica's other shoulder.

'It sounds like the suspect's trying to hack the door,' the quarian said quietly, not wanting to alarm I'Layna, 'She needs to cut the power manually to stop him.'

Nodding his head, Chellick stepped away from the desk to allow Lina to speak.

'I'Layna, my name is Lina'Gerrel Nar Korshan, I'm here to help you. Listen to me very carefully. The turian is attempting to bypass the lock on the door but you can stop him.'

'By the Goddess,' I'Layna sobbed, 'He's going to kill me, isn't he? I'm going to die in here!'

Lina slammed the palm of her hand on Lorica's desk in desperation. 'I'Layna, get a hold of yourself! I can help you keep the door closed but you need to think clearly and follow my every instruction, do you understand?' A faint sobbing crackled through the air and Lina raised her voice, 'Tell me you understand!'

'Yes!' I'Layna cried out, 'Yes, I understand! I'm sorry, just please tell me what to do!'

'Okay, do you see the small panel just to the right of the door's centre? There should be a red arrow printed on it.'

'Yes, I see it,' the asari said, her voice strengthening, 'I'm opening it now.'

'Good. You should see several wires leading into the main power board - that's the big circuit on the left. One of those wires will be red. Disconnect that one from its socket.'

Chellick could only observe in mute suspense as Lina continued to guide I’Layna, her firm tone ringing out as the rest of the team went about their work with renewed purpose.

Their options were few, he realised. It would take hours to fully evacuate Citadel Tower and even longer to find the bomb, let alone defuse it. They had to keep this woman alive at all costs. If she perished then the identity of the terrorist, as well as the location of the bomb, would die with her.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Did I make an idiot of myself?' Arlen asked, 'With Lina, I mean?' 

His head lay nestled firmly in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped against the window of the shuttle's passenger seat.

Garrus glanced at Arlen’s embarrassed expression and a smile crept onto his lips. 'Yeah, but don't worry,' he said wistfully, 'The Citadel's a big place. We'll be meeting plenty more aliens for you to stutter and mumble at soon enough.'

'Oh. Wonderful.'

Shaking his head, Arlen turned his gaze to the sweeping view of the Presidium outside his window. The shuttle coasted along in a slow, loose trail of traffic that wound its way along the inner edge of the colossal ringed structure which housed the district. It was an amazing sight, one that not many in the galaxy ever had the chance to see.

'I always thought I'd enjoy the opportunity to meet new races,' Arlen murmured as his eyes flitted back and forth, taking in the distant scenery, 'So far though, it's just been plain awkward. Did you have that problem when you first started?'

Garrus chuckled softly. 'Man, I can't even remember back that far. Maybe all that paperwork degraded my memory in some way, or it's slowly sending me crazy, but I don't recall those early years too well.'

'It can't be that bad,' Arlen replied but the comment brought only a subtle, knowing laugh from his partner.

'They all say that until they've filed their hundredth DUI. No, you'll see what I mean. The red tape tends to cloud things, make all those months and years blur together into one. In fact, all I do remember from those days is my father saying how proud he was and how glad he was to see me following in his footsteps. To be honest, I don't think there was anything else on my mind at the time.'

'You were close to him?' Arlen asked tentatively, not wanting to overstep his bounds.

'As close as a rebellious young man could be,' Garrus replied with a shrug, 'I can't say I justified the old man’s pride in me by the end, though. He was always a C-Sec man through and through and he never approved of the way I went about the job.'

Arlen did not want to say it but he knew exactly what Garrus meant. His new partner was the mirror opposite of the example of service and honour that was drummed into every turian since childhood. To Arlen it felt odd to be simply permitted to relax without being chastised and he wondered if it was something particular to Garrus or if he would find it the same in the Interceptors.

'I can see why your father would object,' he said without malice, 'Your methods aren't exactly what I'd call orthodox. That stunt you pulled in your office with the pistol would have gotten any academy instructor removed from their position in a heartbeat.'

Garrus grinned ironically. 'You're not the first one to say that by any stretch. I've been pulled into Pallin's office more times than I can remember for all kinds of infractions. Most of them harmless. Still, sometimes the only way to learn is the hard way. You'll be grateful for it one day. I know I am.'

Arlen did not reply and simply stared out the window, observing as the Presidium drifted by. He still did not agree with Garrus' logic and chose that moment to take his new weapon from its holster, hefting it in one hand as he looked it over.

The Striker II really was vastly different from his old Kessler and his eyes followed its faded blue lines with a look of quiet disappointment. It was like everything else in the Citadel; new, unfamiliar and requiring of a great effort to get used to. Already he could sense the greater weight at the end of the barrel and he winced uncomfortably at the feel of it.

With a gentle huff of annoyance, he turned to the Presidium once more.

The place had an almost hypnotic effect on him. Everything, from the sweeping white arches to the smatterings of trees and reservoirs brought a sense of peace he’d never known before. It was a far gentler beauty than Palaven and the virtual opposite of his home colony of Edessa, with its tumultuous winds that constantly churned with ash tossed up by the planet's many volcanoes.

The Presidium's artificial sky, sunless though it was, gleamed with crisp clouds that wandered lazily across the clear blue expanse. _Truly_ , he thought to himself in wonderment, _the Citadel is a miracle._

A question crossed his thoughts and his gaze drifted back to Garrus. He hesitated, as if asking would earn him a reprimand, 'What...was that between you and Chellick? Back in the command centre, I mean? It almost sounded like he was making fun of you.'

He expected a backlash or a look of fierce disapproval at the very least but what he saw instead was just as unnerving.

Garrus smiled, his eyes growing distant with a lingering, burning anger and several moments passed before he replied, 'I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you. No doubt you’ll hear it from someone else soon enough, and with more drama than I’d care to add.'

Although his tone was casual, the deeper meaning of Garrus’ statement was not lost on Arlen he nodded slowly, understanding the trust being placed in him.

'It was about a year ago,' Garrus began, 'Chellick and I were working a case together investigating a salarian geneticist named Doctor Saleon. I'll spare you the details, but to cut a long story short he was growing organs inside living hosts for sale on the black market.'

'Living hosts?' Arlen asked, gaping in disgust, 'That's…that's sick!'

'You don't know the half of it,' Garrus muttered grimly, 'After a long investigation we finally caught a break and had the evidence we needed to arrest the bastard. Only problem was he escaped in an old freighter with his lab equipment and enough test subjects to start all over again.'

'What? Didn't they track him?'

Garrus dipped his head and his tone grew cold. 'No, at least not for long. By the time he got away, Patrol said it was outside their jurisdiction and Pallin refused to send Interceptors after him, said the fugitive wasn't important enough to justify that kind of response. To them Saleon was just another small-time crook who wasn't worth their effort.'

Arlen's mouth hung open. To think that C-Sec would let such a dangerous individual roam free was unconscionable.

'Didn't they at least try to stop the ship?' he asked.

'Well, they would have if it wasn't for Chellick,' Garrus said bitterly, 'I advised a patrolling frigate that Saleon was making his escape and they were all set to fire until Chellick cut in, ordering them to stand down. His authority superseded mine and so the frigate backed off, allowing Saleon to get away.'

A chill fluttered down Arlen's spine. He could not have imagined there would be such division, such clashing of personalities and priorities among people who were meant to be working together. It was the antithesis of what turians were supposed to stand for.

'He made his patronising little speech,’ Garrus went on, ‘He told me how they couldn't risk the lives of the hostages on board. I argued that those people were already dead, that Saleon would murder a lot more if we allowed him to escape but no, Chellick had already gotten Pallin on his side. I was taken off the investigation after that and Saleon disappeared. Nobody's even bothered looking for him since.'

Many questions jostled for space in Arlen's mind but his thoughts were interrupted as Garrus' suit radio chimed insistently.

'Lina? What's wrong?' Garrus asked as he slipped into a professionalism that completely masked the anger of moments before. His expression was severe and humourless, and he frowned at what he heard before turning the shuttle away sharply from the snaking traffic lane. 'Copy that, we're on our way.'

'Is something wrong?' Arlen asked as the car's siren blared out, sending nearby shuttles veering out of their way in a panic.

'There's a situation over at Citadel Tower and we're closest to the scene,' Garrus answered before turning to Arlen and throwing a glance at the recruit's new pistol. 'Looks like you could be using that thing sooner than we expected.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

General Jardan Krassus' eyes were filled with the rich, warm glow of the Zorya sunset as the golden orb descended over distant peaks. The mountains were carpeted in bright green jungles while low valleys swept below them, already dark as the day's final light disappeared.

The old turian watched his breath mist on the window glass, though the planet's heat quickly stole the film of water and it vanished instantly, leaving only a reflection of silver skin and rigid patterns of blue paint.

The savage beauty of Zorya never ceased to leave Krassus breathless yet beneath its gorgeous vistas and lush foliage lurked some of the fiercest and most ferocious creatures he had ever seen in his thirty-five years of service. It was a wonder that any form of civilization could be kept on such a hostile world, though his own presence there had been bought and paid for with blood and vigilance.

His eyes wandered down to the compound's high walls. The thick construction bristled with grids of deadly lasers and large guard towers, silent sentinels that could unleash torrents of artillery fire within seconds.

The door to his quarters opened behind him and he didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

'Yes, Avitus?'

Avitus Varn drew a hand along his light brown mandibles, wiping off the excess moisture that had a tendency to gather in Zorya's humid climate. After a twitch of displeasure he quickly straightened and strode over to Krassus.

'Sir,' he announced coldly, 'We have an urgent communication coming in from the Citadel.'

'Crixus?' asked Krassus, his voice touched with concern. He knew it could only be his most trusted centurion and yet he had to ask, if only to confirm his fears. Crixus was not supposed to report in for at least three more days and the prematurity of the contact brought a hard knot to the general's stomach.

'Yes, Sir,' Varn said grimly. The tribune dipped his head morosely, his body exuding a moment of sadness in spite of his best efforts to combat it. 'Comms have transferred the signal to your private terminal. Would you prefer me to leave?'

Krassus grunted and turned to face his second in command. 'You’re the only one who has known Crixus longer than I have, Avitus. All things considered, I think you have every right to hear what he has to say.'

Varn looked relieved, an odd thing for one who does not readily display his emotions, and he nodded gratefully. 'Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it.'

Giving a brief, humourless smile, Krassus crossed the sparsely furnished room to where a terminal lay. The orange display flickered into existence as he neared and he noticed the small, flashing icon at the bottom of the screen. After a few button commands, he heard a faint hiss as the line connected, an amazing achievement in itself considering how many comm buoys it had been illegally routed through.

'Centurion Nantia?'

The General's fingertips drummed on his desk; the only sign of his anxiety.

'Yes Sir,' the operative replied, his voice garbled and distorted, 'I apologise for contacting you in this manner but I had no choice. There is little time left for me so I must report quickly.'

Krassus lowered his head, expecting the worst. 'What happened, Centurion?'

Crixus took a deep breath before answering, his disappointment clear, 'The package has been delivered but there was a witness, an asari. I almost had her but she's locked herself in a room and I can hear her in there, talking to someone. There was no one with her when I went after her and this place is deserted. It's unlikely anyone was in the room to begin with.'

Krassus shook his head, his eyes closed as he reeled from the news. He’d hoped the mission would be carried out with no complications and for that he berated himself inwardly for his naivety. No plan survived first contact with the enemy.

'Has she alerted C-Sec?' he questioned sternly.

'It's a strong possibility, Sir,' Crixus responded. His voice was growing heavier with static by the second and he spoke hurriedly in case the signal was lost, 'When I tried to bypass the door lock she cut the power on me. You'd have to be a competent tech to carry out something like that and she looked like anything but. There's no doubt about it, Sir, she's getting help.'

The general's brow pulsed as he mentally assessed the situation. 'I see. If that's the case then we have little option. I'm calling an abort on the mission. You are to pull out immediately and go to ground in one of our Citadel safe houses. When the heat has died down, you are to RTB at the next opportunity.'

'Negative, Sir, it's likely she knows the location of the package and could lead C-Sec to it. I’m staying.'

'What are you thinking, Centurion?' Krassus growled, the force of his voice booming in the small chamber, 'The mission may already be compromised and I won't have you throw your life away! You are to pull back, that’s an order!'

Silence stretched out the scant few moments as they waited for their man's reply. Avitus was little more than a statue, and merely blinked when Crixus finally answered.

'I'm sorry, Sir, I must ensure our mission is completed. I still have a breaching charge. I didn't want to use it for fear of drawing attention to myself but that doesn’t seem to matter now. I knew when making this transmission that it would be my last.'

Krassus inhaled deeply and again shut his eyes in frustration. 'Damn it, Crixus,' he said sadly, 'You don't have to do this.'

'Yes I do, General, for the glory of the Legion and the Empire,' Crixus replied, his voice now resolute, 'Please, Sir, know that I do this without regret. I’m disappointed that I won't see our goals fulfilled but I give my life gladly, knowing that I've helped achieve that end.'

Krassus’ cyan facial patterns shifted as he grimaced. It was a cold truth of command, knowing that your men could die at any moment and yet it was something he’d never grown used to, especially when that death could have been avoided. In just a brief moment his mind went through familiar cycles, tormenting him with things he could have done differently, adjustments to the plan that might have spared Crixus' life.

His eyes wandered to Avitus, who remained motionless. The tribune had seemed troubled enough when first entering Krassus' quarters but now he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Perhaps Avitus expected the general to persist, to convince Crixus to return?

 _No_ , Krassus told himself firmly, _He would not shame Crixus' sacrifice by displaying weakness._

'Very well. If that is what you feel must be done,' the general finally said.

'Is…my brother there, Sir?' Crixus asked uneasily.

'Of course.' Krassus answered and looked at Avitus.

The tribune continued to show no sign of what he was feeling as Crixus spoke again, weary with the knowledge that they were to be his final words to his sibling, 'Avitus. Take care of our sister. Make the galaxy a better place for her. Honour the spirits of our brothers.'

A few moments passed with only the occasional chirping of Zorya's native birds to fill the empty air. Finally, with the last vestiges of its strength, the weakening signal allowed one final statement.

'General...it's been an honour.'

Krassus bowed his head respectfully. 'No, Crixus. The honour has been mine.'

A click echoed through the room as the connection was severed and the terminal blinked its objection, an error symbol flashing repeatedly on the display.

Both men visibly sagged with the weight of grief and bitter regret as they digested what had happened. Once the witness had been dealt with, Crixus would doggedly remain with his device to ensure its activation. Now that there was a chance C-Sec knew something was wrong it was only a matter of time until they found him, and Crixus would die before allowing himself to be captured.

With that in mind, Avitus sighed softly. 'I suppose that's that.'

'Indeed,' Krassus murmured, nodding slowly.

Casting aside his sorrow, he slipped into the frame of mind in which he needed to be; the solid and dependable role of a leader. It was not only necessary for him but the men under his command also needed their general to be cool-headed and unflustered by the deaths of his soldiers. Mourning would come later but for now, his men needed orders.

'I want reports every fifteen minutes until the device is activated,' he said as he sat down at his desk, 'If it’s discovered and deactivated prematurely I want to hear about it immediately. Once the mission has been accomplished I’ll announce Crixus' death and a full service will be held as soon as we have the time.'

'Yes, Sir,' Avitus responded. Smartly, he saluted and marched from the room. His silvery armour glowed in the rich dusk light that poured through the window and it shimmered as he halted, his feet stayed by Krassus' voice.

'Will you be alright, Tribune?'

Avitus turned. The creamy brown ridges of his face were edged with black ink that grew from his eye sockets in menacing curves, perfectly framing his baleful yellow eyes.

'I'll live, Sir,' he said flatly before saluting once more and exiting the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a hiss.

Krassus sighed. Crixus’ death would be tough on Avitus but if anyone could endure such a hardship, it was his most skilled and experienced warrior.

Stabbing at the terminal's keypad irritably, Krassus removed the error notification and began to sift through his messages, five of which had accrued during Crixus’ transmission. Contemptuously, he deleted them all with a single, frustrated keystroke. Soon he would find out whether or not his centurion’s sacrifice was in vain. Little else mattered until then.


	4. Chapter 4

Citadel Tower rose up ahead like a gleaming white tree, dwarfing everything around it. It reached into the sky, the distance unfathomable by Arlen as he craned his neck to find the top. 

'It's amazing,' he murmured in astonishment as he jogged lightly alongside Garrus, his arms swinging rhythmically with each stride, 'Citadel Tower. Seat of the Council and the heart of Citadel Control. I've heard stories about this place but none of them could have done it justice. It's simply incredible.'

Garrus shrugged. ‘Make the most of it while you can. It gets a little less special every time you see it.’

The response took Arlen aback until he reminded himself that Garrus had likely seen more of the Presidium and the Tower during his time with C-Sec than anyone could stomach. Even so, Arlen couldn’t help but stand in awe at the majesty of it. The giant structure loomed over them as they drew closer, mocking their insignificance as they padded along the pristine walkways that led to it. At their sides, a large lake shimmered peacefully, jets of water occasionally breaking the surface to send glittering showers through the air.

Arlen enjoyed the fountains, as well as the feeling of air refined by dozens of fresh green parks in his lungs. It invigorated him as he ran, giving him something to take his mind from the way from the nervousness he felt at heading into his first assignment.

Their C-Sec patrol shuttle lay behind them, and with all traffic access to the Tower blocked they had been forced to approach their destination on foot. Arlen could only hope their suspects didn’t have an escape vehicle hidden nearby.

'How many?' he asked.

'Only one that we know of, possibly armed and dangerous,' Garrus replied tersely, 'Still, we can't be too careful. Expect the worst and you'll be prepared for anything.'

'Makes sense,' Arlen agreed, 'Any word on the location of our witness?'

Garrus shook his head. 'Nothing concrete. Lina managed to trace the signal and narrow the source down to a single floor but that's about as precise as we're ‘gonna get. I've seen those maintenance corridors, they're like a maze. It won't be easy finding her with just the two of us and there's no way to tell where to even start. That's not even the worst part. Before Lina lost the signal, the witness mentioned something about having to run away from the suspect. That means they could have been anywhere when she saw him plant the bomb.'

'So,' Arlen began, a cold horror seeping into his flesh, 'this is the real thing, isn't it?'

'We don't know anything yet,' Garrus reminded him, 'As Chellick said, it could be a hoax, a bunch of anarchists or protesters wanting to spread chaos and interrupt this Alliance summit. She called herself I’Layna Naris, aide to the asari Councillor. That part checked out but we’ve got no way of knowing if it’s really her who made the call. That's not an excuse to let your guard down but let's just say there's a reason Chellick's only sending two of us in there. Until the threat's been verified they don't want anything to delay these Council talks and putting too many field agents on it will leave too large a gap in the security net.'

Falling silent again, Arlen cast his gaze over the Tower's entrance elevators. Already a throng of reporters had gathered like carrion birds, each keen to gather any scrap of information they could on the summit, their shouts swelling and mingling into one voice. Some tried their luck, attempting to push past the hefty cordon that held them at bay only to be pushed back by vigilant C-Sec officers.

'Damn press,' Garrus muttered under his breath, 'Just keep your eyes forward and ignore them as best you can.'

Arlen simply stared at the gaggle of shouting men and women and felt a shiver of excitement as bright spots of light blinked in his face. He’d never come close to a press event before and it all felt surreal to him as dozens of cam-bots clicked and whirred, each one bearing the logos of news stations he recognised. He allowed himself the indulgence of feeling like a celebrity for just a moment and grinned slightly as he passed through the cordon.

Representatives of nearly every Citadel race jostled for attention as the turians were checked by waiting C-Sec officers, who ignored of the outstretched arms and desperate questions called out to them while they directed Arlen and Garrus to the elevators.

The din was cut off in an instant as the elevator doors slid up, shielding Arlen and Garrus behind thick glass. The quiet was blissful and they both gave their ear holes an appreciative scratch, glad to be away from the hungry crowd.

Arlen peered down at them as the elevator rose. 'These Council talks must be pretty big to garner this kind of attention. I didn't even know they were happening. Odd really, since back home the big Council events are usually broadcasted on all channels, as well as the extranet.'

'This one won't be too popular back on Palaven,' said Garrus, 'The Hierarchy doesn't like to publicise anything that seems to show the Alliance being treated too favourably. It's not exactly censorship and I don't think it's malicious or anything, but it still goes on. I think it might even be for the best. There's still a lot of bad feeling out there over the Relay 314 Incident and a lot of the older generation still think we should've pressured the Council more, imposed harsher penalties on humanity after the ceasefire.'

'The First Contact War, isn't that what they called it?’ Arlen asked, ‘I remember the drill instructors talking about it all the time back at boot camp. Some wished we'd put the humans in their place, as they said. Most of the hostility came from the older guys, though to be honest, I don't see what the big deal is. From what I read it was all a big misunderstanding that got out of hand.'

Garrus clearly wanted to laugh at the simplicity of the statement but settled for a quiet grunt. 'Yeah, I guess it was, though that misunderstanding had pretty harsh consequences. I guess we shouldn't be surprised the humans came back to hit us with everything they had, nor that we responded in kind. That's something every race in the galaxy has in common, I think. If someone shoots at you, you blindly shoot back until someone takes the guns away from both of you. Revenge is one of the first things to cross the species barrier. It doesn't die easily.'

Arlen found the notion foolish. All around him stood proof that together, the galaxy could achieve anything. The grudges of a few crusted old men would do nothing but harm his people's standing in this greater community and he felt a small pinch of frustration at their selfishness.

'What do you think?' he asked suddenly, 'Of the Relay 314 Incident, I mean?'

Garrus hefted his shoulders. 'I have to admit, I was pretty impressed with the way the humans handled themselves out there. They were attacked by an unknown enemy and adapted quickly, displaying remarkable small unit tactics while showing us the weaknesses in our own formations at the same time. They're more flexible than we are and less cautious than the salarians, and that's an impressive combination. I don't blame anyone back home for getting nervous about their capabilities.' He folded his arms and his mandibles flexed slightly as he mulled the matter over. 'The thing is, if Relay 314 had been activated and brought on another rachni invasion then this 'First Contact War' of theirs could've been a whole lot worse. I can't say we were wrong to attack those ships that were trying to activate the relay. That was a preventative action which could have saved billions of lives in the long run. But laying siege to a whole colony...that was something else.'

Shanxi was the first and only human colony to fall to his people, Arlen recalled. It was not long before the Alliance took it back and the counter attack was where the turians took the majority of their casualties. The civilian population suffered the worst of it, however. During the initial siege the turians dropped bombs on defensive positions in the capital city from orbit and after that, rocks and other debris that smashed their settlements into oblivion. The casualties had been horrendous.

It had been a sort but ugly conflict, one which Arlen had been taught the humans brought upon themselves. By fielding their forces among civilians, the defenders had expected weakness from their enemy. It had not come, and no one had been safe from the bombardment or the assault that followed.

Arlen looked at Garrus warily. 'What do you mean 'that was something else'?'

'What we did to that colony went beyond preventative action,' Garrus muttered darkly, 'Civilians, soldiers, all bombed without thought or mercy. There was no skill involved, no finesse.' He caught Arlen's surprise and smiled weakly. 'I know it's not what you're used to hearing. I suppose you could say I've got sympathy for humans. Some would say I have too much, but more than anything I respect them. That's why I say we should only look at the whole thing from a certain perspective. More than anything, we need to learn from it. We've already got plenty of problems in the galaxy without being at each other's throats. If the rachni and the krogan have shown us anything, it's that we might need to work together against a common enemy one day. For all we know, that time could be sooner than we think.'

That was something Arlen could agree with and he nodded silently in thought. The chiming of the elevator brought an abrupt end to their conversation and with a cursory glance at their surroundings, the pair stepped out into the sprawling maintenance corridors.

'You weren't kidding,' Arlen said, his mouth agape as he looked around, 'This could take hours, days even!'

Garrus nodded his agreement. In all directions yawned several hallways, each with countless others branching off like the roots of a plant. The doors were marked by bright green control panels that illuminated spots on the adjacent walls while strips of dim white ran their length, their soft glow barely able to light up anything at all.

Garrus sighed in anticipation of their task. 'I'll take the left, you take right. Radio in if you find anything. If it looks too risky, just wait for me and we'll take the suspect down together, all right?'

'All right,' Arlen replied with more confidence than he felt, 'Let's do this.'

To his surprise, a smile crossed Garrus' lips. 'Don't do anything stupid. It's only your first day on the job.'

Arlen smiled back nervously and he kept his eyes on Garrus as he thundered down the corridor.

Now that he was alone, the silence pressed in on Arlen like a shroud. He realised there was a branching corridor immediately on his flank and his head moved from side to side as he tried to decide which path to take. It was like some kind of twisted dream, where everywhere he turned he found himself facing the direction from which he'd just come.

Drawing a deep breath, he took the hallway to his right. He strained his senses, watching for anything out of place and listening for anything unusual. It was not easy however, as the stench of ages-old dust interfered with his concentration.

Before long the similarity of the corridors began to grate on his nerves. _Turians never break_ , he reminded himself as he pushed on. They endured every challenge thrust before them, no matter what.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Crixus turned the small explosive charge over in his hand, staring at the grey metal disc in quiet contemplation.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to take the life of someone who had nothing to do with his cause, who was not a sworn enemy of the Legion.

 _Hell_ , he thought to himself with a grunt, _the bitch only got herself into this because she'd been so damn friendly. If she'd just picked herself off the ground and carried on walking it wouldn't have come to this._

He heard her through the door, sobbing in despair. The true irony was that had she just given herself up to begin with, he would have settled for binding and gagging her, ready for C-Sec to find in a dark corner somewhere. Witnesses would do them no good once the device was active. There was no choice now, no way back.

He listened to the gentle, sorrowful sound and again looked at the breaching charge. It was meant to be used in an emergency, if some wall or barrier blocked the path to his target. Now it would have to serve a much darker purpose.

Shaking his head in disgust, Crixus slapped the charge on the door and the tiny keypad lit up, inviting him to arm the fuse. His finger hovered over the buttons and his crimson markings twisted as he winced in frustration.

'Damn it,' he whispered. His thoughts swirled, forming quiet words he couldn't stop spilling out, 'What? Do you think I wanted this? You think I wanted to leave my brother and sister behind?'

Again he tried but again his finger stopped just above the keypad, as if there were a kinetic barrier over it. The weakness was infuriating but his honour demanded that he try again to reach her. He was a soldier and she was not his enemy.

Crixus' breath hissed noisily through his nostrils and he lowered his hand before slowly pressing his body to the door. Steadying himself, he lowered his voice and spoke, 'I'Layna, wasn't it? I'Layna Naris?'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

I'Layna looked up sharply at the sound of her own name. The asari sat in a mournful heap, slumped against the far wall as she kept a wavering watch on the door.

The C-Sec officers she'd spoken to earlier had guided her through the cutting of the door's power but then all had gone silent as the connection broke. All she could do was wait and pray they would send someone to help her soon.

I'Layna's eyes stung as they threatened another wave of tears.

 _Why is this happening to me?_ she asked herself in disbelief, muffling another loud sob.

She had been due to share a special, romantic dinner with her bond mate that night. She had planned the occasion to the last detail throughout the day, growing more excited with every passing moment but now the time she'd set aside was being spent in a cold, dark room, waiting for someone to kill her.

 _This is only a nightmare_ , she kept telling herself, _It can't be real. Soon you'll wake up and everything will be the way it was._

And yet the pain of her own heart pounding in her chest brought the reality crashing down around her.

'I'Layna,' the turian said again, making her flinch, 'Listen to me. It doesn't have to end like this.'

'Please!' she moaned softly, 'Please, just let me go. C-Sec are on their way, they know exactly where you are and they're coming for me!'

It was a lie and her quivering voice could not hide it.

The turian carried on, unfazed, 'I don't want to kill you, I'Layna but I can't let you go. One way or another you won't be telling them anything and you know this door won't stop me. Just…' There was a pause followed by a slight creaking, as he were leaning against the door. 'Please, just come out and I give you my word that you will live through this.'

Only an incredulous, desperate scoff greeted his proposal. I'Layna wanted to believe him. She longed to accept his offer and the possibility that she would escape but she felt deep in her heart that he could not be trusted. It was a stab of cold terror, like a blade thrust into her chest that she could not pull out.

'You expect me to believe the word of a terrorist?' I'Layna said aloud as she buried her face in her hands, 'I'd have to be insane to trust you!'

'Don't be stupid, woman!' he hissed, 'This is your last chance. Give yourself up or I _will_ kill you!'

Outside, Crixus waited, straining to hear anything more than his own breath. The silence was all the answer he needed and grudgingly, he raised a hand to the breaching charge. 'So be it,' he said, stiff with regret.

The charge blinked red as the timer began to cycle. Crixus stepped away from the door but did not hurry. The powerful explosive would do its job effectively enough and once it did, all his efforts could be focused on ensuring the safety of the package.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen's head snapped up at the sound of an explosion; an ear-splitting crack with a ground shock he felt even through the armour of his boots.

His mouth went dry as he realised it was close. Very close.

He broke into a trot, his white face paint strobing red and green as he passed one control panel after another. His path took him along corridors he was certain he'd already checked and desperation welled up in his chest. With only the vague direction of the explosion to guide him and little else beyond that, he could only run and ask the Spirits for luck.

He almost missed the faint wisp of smoke curling around a distant corner, beckoning him. He slid to a halt and followed the trail, the smoke thickening as he neared the source.

On impulse he drew his pistol and felt reassured by the familiar clacks and clicks as the Striker locked into a firing position. Thumbing off the safety, Arlen held the weapon in a firm two-handed grip and stretched it out before his eyes.

The smoke was now a choking cloud that grew more aggressive with each cautious step, attacking him fiercely. It seeped into his eyes and lungs, a stinging mist that brought muffled coughs from deep within his throat.

Through it all he could just about make out the shredded remains of a doorway to his right.

Arlen entered and his eyes immediately fixed on two limp, motionless forms at the far end of the room. Though the figures were obscured by the blinding smoke he could easily discern the distinct outlines of a dead keeper and an asari. It could only be their witness, he was certain of it.

His heart slowed as horror took hold. She did not appear to be breathing.

Arlen shuffled closer, his every thought bent on checking her for signs of life. He did not see the flicker of shadow to his left until it was too late.

A hand shot out, taking the barrel of his pistol in a strong grip while another brought itself down on his wrists. Before he could even process what had happened, Arlen felt the Striker slip from his fingers.

The weapon clattered and slid away, spinning across the floor. An arm came up, aiming a swipe at Arlen's face but met only air as the young turian ducked instinctively, pushing his attacker away with all his strength.

Another turian stood scowling before him, tall and muscular with red face markings that made him look like a demon in the swirling smoke. He seemed calm and relaxed, and he flexed his fingers as he took a few tentative steps toward the door, blocking any hope of escape.

Arlen moved back, putting a couple of feet between them. He tried to think but everything seemed distant and sluggish. He knew his pistol lay somewhere on the ground but he dared not take his eyes from his opponent.

‘You’re the one this asari was running from?’ asked Arlen, his throat raw from the fumes.

The other turian cocked his head slightly. ‘Not any more.’

The reply was confident, far more confident than Arlen felt himself and his voice croaked as he responded, ‘You’re under arrest. Surrender now and tell us where you planted the bomb.’

‘You have no weapon,’ the red-painted turian pointed out with a derisive snort, ‘How are planning on making your arrest, boy?’

Arlen held the man’s eyes resolutely through the shifting grey haze. ‘Any way I can.’

‘Brave, kid. Brave but foolhardy. What’s your name?’

Arlen was reluctant to answer. He tried to remain silent as he sized up his opponent but something about the suspect’s calm made him waver. In those brief seconds as they stared at each other like circling pit varren, he felt the chill of fear enter his heart.

‘Officer Kryik,’ he finally answered, ‘Arlen Kryik.’

‘Crixus Nantia,’ the turian said with a slow nod, ‘See now? Even though one of us has to die, there’s nothing to say we can’t conduct ourselves with honour.’

‘ _Honour?_ ’ Arlen narrowed his eyes at Crixus, baring his teeth in anger as he pointed to the fallen asari behind him. ‘You call _this_ honour? You’re nothing but a murderer, a terrorist!’

Crixus stared at him for a few moments before letting out a low chuckle. ‘You know nothing about me, boy.’ He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. ‘Neither you or C-Sec are going to take me, not while I still hold breath, you hear? As a fellow turian, you should know that already.’

Knowing what was to come made little difference for Arlen. He'd been trained in personal combat but the reality of fighting for his life was a merciless, crushing weight on his nerves.

 _No_ , he assured himself quickly, shaking his head free of doubt, _Turians never break._

Arlen surged forward, his feet light on the ground. The air was filled with thuds and scrapes as Crixus blocked a flurry of blows, each hammering uselessly against his forearms. The older turian wore no armour but he turned the punches with expert precision and they slid roughly off bones hardened through decades of conditioning.

Arlen became desperate and clumsy, and Crixus countered, sending a jab into his jaw that echoed through the small room with a sickening crack.

Staggering, Arlen blinked past the pain, risking a furtive glance at his enemy as he dropped back. The smoke danced around Crixus and he eyed Arlen with the steady gaze of a hunter, his expression betraying no emotion. His intentions were impossible to read.

With manic urgency, Arlen's mind rushed to recall those countless hours spent training with his father, to bring forth the preternatural actions that were supposed to simply happen. Panic flared as nothing came. He couldn't think.

Crixus moved in and Arlen took an automatic step back, his stomach heavy with sickly terror. His back hit the wall and tools rustled as shelving and lockers were disturbed. Still Crixus came, his expression pitiless.

The training could not pierce the fear and confusion. It wasn't working. Arlen scarcely had the time to defend himself as Crixus' fist snapped out with terrifying speed. He felt his right arm jar painfully with the block but he did not try to parry it.

Raw, furious panic consumed him and without thought to technique, Arlen launched himself at his foe, slipping under another swing to grasp at Crixus' clothing. It was easy to find a purchase and Arlen acted instantly to close his fingers blindly on the cloth, gripping it with animal ferocity.

Lost somewhere in his roiling senses, he heard Crixus grunt in surprise and felt fingers trying to break his grip.

A single, unbending urge pushed it all from Arlen’s mind. He reared his head back and with a bestial roar, rammed it into Crixus' face as hard as he could.

He felt a measure of feral joy as something broke and the terrorist growled in pain. Arlen sensed the hands questing at his armour, frantically hammering away at his protected stomach.

Filled with panicked aggression, he pulled his head back and thrust again and again, each impact sending a ripple of weakness through his enemy. It was not long before Arlen felt a cool wetness on his face, though whether the blood belonged to Crixus or himself he couldn’t tell.

Buoyed by the advantage, Arlen turned on the spot and with all the strength he could muster, threw Crixus into the wall, sending boxes tumbling as shelves splintered and broke.

Lockers crashed down around Crixus and he winced as he carefully brought a hand to his face. Dark, oozing blood poured from his nostrils and his left mandible had snapped completely, no doubt filling his head with a pain that Arlen could scarcely imagine.

Arlen sank back several paces, his mind blank on what to do next as Crixus rose slowly to his feet, glaring at him with palpable fury.

Snorting angrily, Crixus spat out a thick glob of blood and let out a low mutter, ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve killed a man with my bare hands. Looks like I’ve gotten rusty. You should’ve picked up that gun of yours while you had the chance, boy, because you won’t get another.’

The pistol. Arlen couldn’t help but glance down in search for it, only to freeze in panic as he instantly realised his mistake.

Crixus sprang at him immediately with savage attacks fed by pain and rage. He leaned in with a sharp hook that rocked Arlen's head back and lashed out again, catching him above the eye.

Pain exploded through Arlen's face as more blows found his cheeks and crest. He slipped under one strike only for another to find his mandible and he felt his strength ebb with every passing moment.

Snarling furiously, Crixus pressed against him, forcing him back and Arlen felt a spike of terror as his legs buckled under him. The terrorist sensed his weakness and burst forward, wedging his arm beneath the Arlen's chin to pin him against the wall by his throat.

Arlen grasped feebly at his neck, spluttering against the crushing force that sent his breath choking out, covering his mouth in flecks of bloody spittle. He felt the heat of Crixus' wounds like lickings of fire on his skin. He smelt the thick, stale odour of his sweat and his ears were filled with their frenzied grunts of exertion.

His fear reached its height as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. He knew at that moment he was going to die.

Suddenly, his hands reached out around him, probing for something, anything he could use. The movement was instinctive, his training coming to him as an impulse he could not stop, shifting his arms and forcing them to search his surroundings.

Crixus did not notice his fingers curl around a thin, sharp maintenance tool on a nearby shelf and the terrorist roared in pain as Arlen stabbed at his arms, lining the sleeves of his garment with spreading blots of dark blood. The sibilant, wet thuds of steel entering flesh resounded, and it wasn’t long before Crixus released his grip and stumbled back, clutching at his bleeding limbs.

Arlen raised the weapon again in a lunge but in spite of his injuries, Crixus had awareness enough to shift his weight to the side, bringing an elbow to the side of Arlen’s face with a loud smack.

The room spun in a nauseating whirl. Arlen felt his body grow sluggish, then his legs go numb. He screamed at them to keep moving but they did not respond. Instead they crumpled as Crixus swept out with his shin, knocking Arlen onto his back in a daze.

The patter of dribbling blood seemed to overpower all of Arlen's senses, even his own ragged breathing. He could only watch helpless as Crixus picked up his Striker, the barrel shining with dark, wet spots.

Crixus’ nose had been shattered and it streamed blood in gleaming ribbons. His snapped mandile twitched convulsively and his punctured arm hung limp at his side as he brought the pistol to bear.

'You almost pulled that one out of the bag, kid,' he said, his voice gurgling as bitter fluid slid down the back of his throat, 'I knew I recognised your name. You’re kin of Renius, aren’t you?’

Arlen said nothing. Even if he’d known whether his voice still worked, he still wouldn't have dignified the terrorist with a response.

Crixus let out a wet, curdled grunt and moved closer, stretching out the pistol until the black hole of the barrel rested over Arlen’s forehead. 'You don’t have to answer. I can see it in your eyes, your skin, your very instincts. But you ain’t him. General Renius wouldn't have let the moment get to him like that. It made you sloppy, weak.'

His finger reached around the trigger. 'This is nothing personal.'

The shot rang out and Arlen's eyes snapped shut. Seconds passed and only the heavy thump of a falling body on the floor brought him back reluctantly to his senses.

It was Garrus. A thin trail of vapour rose from his pistol and his eyes flickered across the scene from beneath his blue targeting visor. If he was shocked at what he saw, his calm exterior hid it well.

'Looks like you found our witness,' he said casually as he helped Arlen to his feet.

'I was too late,' Arlen replied breathlessly before doubling over to hack a mouthful of bloody phlegm from his throat, 'By the time I got here she was down and….'

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Instead he stared despondently at the man who had come so close to killing him.

Crixus lay dead, with nothing more than a dark blue bowl where the back of his head used to be and still it felt like he could spring back to life and finish his work.

Garrus knelt and scanned I'Layna's body with his omni-tool, frowning worriedly as the readout flashed up brightly.

'This isn't good,' he muttered, 'She's alive but it looks like she's suffered a serious concussion. I don't have any medigel so we need to get her to the nearest clinic as quickly as possible.'

Arlen staggered slightly as he wandered to Crixus' corpse and with some effort, pried his Striker from the terrorist's grip. 'Should I send for help?'

‘I’ll call for an evac,’ Garrus said as he brought up his omni-tool again, ‘You report in and tell Chellick everything that happened. Your suit radio’s signal will have to be boosted to cope with the interference here but don’t wander off. I might need you to help me move her.’

Arlen glanced at the fallen asari, who still lay unmoving and unresponsive, covered in a sheen of dust and debris. Crixus may have been dealt with but his bomb was still somewhere within Citadel Tower and the information Naris held was their only chance of finding it in time.

The thought remained in Arlen’s mind as he prepared to contact JSTF.


	5. Chapter 5

Lina'Gerrel's slender fingers drummed against her desk in a tense, rapid rhythm as she waved aside screen after screen on her terminal. 

The warm light thrown onto the glass of her helmet blinked and warped as she worked to sift through various security feeds and reports. Around her, the command centre had lost its frantic edge and with Garrus' confirmation that their terrorist had been killed, they had settled into a steady and productive pace. New intel was still being received by the second but now they had a clear point of focus, the team knew immediately what they could or could not discard and worked more efficiently as a result.

Sitting upright at her desk, Lorica grinned with the pleasure of success and raised her voice to Chellick as he paced around the command centre's main dais.

'Crixus Nantia,' the asari beamed, her words accompanied by a picture of the red-painted turian on the enormous monitor at the far end of the room. Bodies of text fell into place alongside the image, detailing Crixus' vital statistics, family and known aliases. 'Thirty-seven years of age, nineteen of them spent in the turian navy. Service rated as exemplary, a lot of medals, citations, long-service awards, even a recommendation for the Spec Ops outfit Blackwatch. He did several years as a warfare operative before transferring to special operations and recon, spending most of his career as a dedicated sniper in the Seventh Legion.'

Chellick's eyes narrowed. 'Sounds like a model turian citizen. What went wrong?'

Lorica brought up a set of surveillance photos. 'Applied for voluntary discharge out of the blue one day. Ordinarily it wouldn't have been a big deal, soldiers decide they've had enough all the time, after all. What makes Crixus special is he just so happened to apply for resignation on the very same day as fifty other members of his legion, and over a hundred others spread throughout the turian military.'

'The Seventh Exodus,' Chellick grunted in recognition, 'At least that's what the media called it. It was the biggest mass resignation the legions had faced in over twelve-hundred years, and the first since joining the Council. It was a humiliation for the Hierarchy and the general populace were none too happy about it either.'

'That's nothing compared to what happened next,' Lorica continued and Chellick's mandibles twitched with interest as his eyes flickered across several frames of security footage. 'Next thing we know, Crixus and his former comrades form an extremist group dedicated to, get this; stopping the relentless and unchecked spread of humanity throughout the galaxy and paving the way for a return to the true turian path. Their words, not mine.'

Raising his head above his workstation, Milo let out a small laugh. 'Wow, and I thought the batarians were good at coming up with terrorist dogma bullshit.'

The quality of the footage was terrible but it was easy to spot Crixus' unique markings as he loitered with five other turians.

They each stood rigidly, their backs straight and their shoulders pushed aside, all former soldiers, of that there could be no doubt. Their dominating posture was the work of hundreds of hours of precise, demanding drill and was not something that could be undone by a few years of civilian life.

Chellick raised a gloved hand to his chin, giving it a contemplative rub as he remained fixated on the monitor. 'So, we're dealing with the Forgotten Legion after all.'

'Certainly looks like it,' Lorica confirmed, and Milo threw her a questioning glance.

'How about a little briefing for the guys who don't read 'terrorist monthly'?' he asked, leaning back in his seat idly. Catching Chellick's severe glare however, he quickly straightened before adding, 'Naming no names.'

With a sly grin, Lorica promptly tapped her keypad and another file appeared on the main screen. Reams of information slowly scrolled down accompanied by surveillance vids, most containing Crixus meeting with several others of his kind.

'These files have been pulled from the archives of over a dozen intelligence agencies spread throughout the galaxy,' Lorica explained, 'From the ruling hanar bureaucracy to the Salarian Union, you're seeing everything we have on the Forgotten Legion.'

'JSTF's Council connections are good for more than just dealing with the embassies,' Chellick added, 'What can you tell us, Lorica?'

Lorica cleared her throat loudly enough to bring up the heads of most of the team to hear what she had to say.

'Not much you won't find on the extranet, and I quote; "the Seventh Exodus, named for the legion hardest hit by the disaster, was the result of the decision by the Turian Hierarchy to award reparations to the families of human victims of the Relay 314 Incident". Turns out a lot of turian veterans took exception to the idea of paying compensation to their former enemies and so around a hundred and fifty soldiers left the military to form a hard line anti-human group. They called themselves the Forgotten Legion, though nobody really knows why they picked the name. It's assumed they believe themselves to be forgotten by their superiors, an island of true turian values in a sea of change.'

Milo cocked an eyebrow. 'Sounds like your standard pretentious, self-righteous martyr crap to me. Weird though, I thought the last race that'd stomach a mutiny would be the turians.'

'That's because it wasn't a mutiny,' Lorica rebuffed, giving her lover a playful smile, 'They all left in accordance with the rules and broke no laws when they resigned.'

'Still,' Chellick growled, 'it was an embarrassment for the Hierarchy and the Primarch. At a time when turians were expected to be examples to all, the incident reflected badly on us and the idea that some of our people were no better than batarian malcontents was a bitter pill to swallow. The move wasn't looked kindly upon by the mainstream.'

'So why haven't the Hierarchy shut them down by now?' Milo asked, thoughtfully stroking his beard.

‘A fair question,’ the commander replied, ‘but not one easily answered. Every turian respects the laws that bind them, without exception. No one quits. The Exodus and the Forgotten Legion were more than just a black eye for the Hierarchy and their proud turian values. They were impossibilities, things that no right-minded turian could conceive. You might call it a case of ‘cultural denial’.’

He paused and wandered to a nearby console, and after a few keystrokes one of the images on the main monitor expanded, filling the eyes of everyone in the room with a face they did not recognise. Judging by Chellick's grim expression, they knew it was time they learned it.

‘Or it might well be because of this man.’

The face was that of another turian, his thick shell the colour of ash. Dark lines were etched into his skin, old wounds scoring the surface of his carapace while cold, blue eyes glared at them with an intensity everyone could feel beneath their skin. Blocky patterns the same shade of icy blue as his eyes were daubed across his features, closely hugging the sharp lines of his fringe and mandibles.

'General Jardan Krassus, former commanding officer of the Seventh Legion,' Chellick announced, 'He's the reason the Forgotten Legion have remained operational to this day. Highly decorated and respected, General Krassus was a very young corporal, or optio as the rank was known at the time, when the Relay 314 Incident occurred. He fought in the conflict, from the very first skirmish to the Alliance's eventual retaliation. His Centurion was killed in action and he took command of his century early on, holding them together as the humans counter-attacked. He led with distinction, earning a medal for bravery as well as a commendation for exceptional leadership. Throughout a career built on leading from the frontline, he worked his way up to general - a rare and admirable feat - and was involved in some of the most prolific actions this side of the Krogan Rebellions.'

Lorica nodded along, though she could not help but frown at Lina. Her quarian superior was deeply entrenched in whatever task she was carrying out and was still prodding and waving at her display, seemingly not listening to a word they were saying.

Feeling a sharp prickle of irritation, Lorica let out an annoyed huff.

'Who'd have imagined someone like that turning traitor, huh, Lina?' she asked pointedly.

No one but Milo seemed to recognise the spiteful note in her voice and the young man ran a hand down his face wearily.

'On the contrary,' Lina retorted immediately, her eyes still locked on her terminal, 'General Krassus is the perfect man to run such an organisation. His unit lost many men when the humans reclaimed Shanxi and it has often been assumed that he was responsible for orchestrating the Seventh Exodus itself.'

The unruffled response drew a look of mild fury from her asari counterpart.

Bowing his head, Chellick placed his hands behind his back. It was unclear whether or not he noticed the subtle exchange between the two women as he went on, 'General Krassus was a hero to a lot of people and a model turian to many more. He garnered a lot of sympathy in the military and in the upper political echelons, enough to prevent his organisation from being declared terrorists in the true sense. In Hierarchy space, the Forgotten Legion are recognised as a political reformist group, borderline but tolerated nonetheless.'

'That's all changed now,' Milo mumbled, 'They're responsible for an attack on the Citadel and the Council itself. They've gone right over the fringe.'

Lorica turned to face him, laying an arm over the edge of her seat. 'It's obvious they're here to disrupt the Alliance summit. It's the perfect target; new expansion rights being granted to humanity, some even on the border of turian space, it's like a red flag to your…bull?'

Chellick's throat clicked. 'It's too early to jump to conclusions, but yes, it would certainly seem that way. As to where we stand now, there's still some kind of weapon planted somewhere in Citadel Tower, most likely explosive but also a potential delivery system for a chemical or biological agent. We have Special Response on site sweeping the area as we speak but it'll take a day, maybe more to search every potential spot. We need the precise location of that bomb before it's too late.'

'What about the witness, Sir?' asked Milo.

'She's alive but in a critical condition,' Chellick replied, shaking his head, 'Garrus and Arlen managed to get her out and are en-route to a local medical facility in the upper wards. All we can do is hope either they or Special Response can turn something up in time.'

It was not an optimistic estimation of their chances and Milo swallowed hard at the thought of the Legion’s device actually detonating.

He was not alone. The entire command centre seemed gripped by a fog of uncertainty as the same dire consequences played on all their minds.

The sudden hush was broken as Lina stood, her chair scraping across the ground with a shrill screech.

'Chellick! I've found something!'

The commander's mouth firmed into a cautious grin and he turned to face the main screen. His eyes were instantly filled by a security vid, the time stamp dated barely two hours ago. Through the swirling static and blurred edges he could recognise Crixus easily enough, though it was the presence of another figure that interested him.

Standing before Crixus was the much frailer, slighter frame of a salarian. His long, thin face was a darkened grey while his eyes and forehead were crusted with dull, slate-coloured scales.

Were it not for Crixus, Chellick would have deemed the salarian unremarkable save for the fact that he stood behind a counter. It was one that Chellick knew well as one of the many thousands of shopping kiosks found in the market sectors of the wards.

'This footage was taken about an hour before I'Layna Naris contacted us,' Lina explained, 'Using the Citadel's internal surveillance network, I traced Nantia's movements all the way back to when he first checked into customs less than an hour ago. This was the only stop he made between landing on the station and travelling to Citadel Tower.'

'So what?' Lorica sneered, 'So the guy did some shopping, this doesn't get us anywhere!'

Ignoring the barb, Lina continued, zooming in on the counter, 'The salarian's name is Morlan. He runs a shop in the upper wards, not far from Garrus and Arlen's current position. I think we might need to have a word with him.'

Chellick's face lit up as he watched Crixus place a large case on the counter and after a shifty glance, Morlan opened it. Though they couldn’t see exactly what the salarian was doing, no one missed the distinctive circuit board that flashed in Morlan's hands as he retrieved it from under the counter.

‘Hold,’ Chellick ordered without taking his eyes from the screen, ‘Reverse two.’ The circuit board was clearly visible now and he nodded to it. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Were I to guess,’ Lina responded, ‘I would say it’s a vital component of the bomb itself, something integral to its activation. It could even explained how Crixus managed to smuggle the device past the customs scanners when he first entered the Citadel. Without a known profile for the scanners to pick up on, the case may have simply looked like a box of mechanical parts.’

'Good work, Lina,' Chellick said, his voice ringing with satisfaction, 'Get Garrus on the line. We need to pay Morlan a little visit.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The clinic was awhirl with chaos, barely giving Arlen time to gather his thoughts. He struggled to remain close to the unconscious I’Layna as paramedics pushed her through the medical centre's emergency unit on a wheeled casualty bed, staff and patients alike forced aside by the flurry of noise and urgency.

Guilt had weighed heavily on his mind since leaving the Tower, growing into a constant presence that ceaselessly chewed at his thoughts.

He had been too slow, had arrived too late to help her. If he'd at least taken Crixus alive then JSTF would've had someone to interrogate. As it stood they had little to go on and their only hope lay with a woman who'd done nothing more than simply walk down the wrong corridor one morning.

He shuffled back as the on-call asari doctor pressed in, barking orders at a nearby orderly who responded with well-rehearsed speed and precision. Garrus removed himself from the small group and stood to one side, speaking quietly into his suit radio.

Arlen's eyes lingered on him for a time before placing his head into his hands in misery. He leaned back against a wall, ignorant of the buzzing medigel dispenser that responded to his proximity.

He had missed a real chance to end the whole ordeal there and then. If he'd only trusted in his training when fighting Crixus, they could have the bomb's location by now. Instead Arlen faced the knowledge that he'd forsaken everything he had been taught, almost losing his life in the process. His gut churned as he imagined what his father would say.

'You're quiet,' Garrus murmured, startling Arlen from his stupor. The veteran agent's fingers were curled around a thin cup of sterile water and he looked at Arlen with genuine concern. 'Is something wrong?'

Arlen let out a deep sigh and let his hands fall to hang by his sides. 'I panicked back there,' he said sullenly, 'I tried to think but he came at me so fast, I just-' The words came more quickly than Arlen intended, falling from his mouth as if he had no control over them, 'I just reacted! I forgot my training and allowed fear to dictate my thoughts and actions. I brought disgrace to myself, my father, my-'

'You're still alive,' Garrus interrupted with a shrug, 'That's 'gotta count for something, right? Crixus Nantia was a highly trained soldier, someone picked for his mission because he had no problem killing whoever stood in his way. From what I saw, you did plenty of damage yourself.'

With a grunt, Arlen pushed himself from the wall and his eyes grew hard as he cut the air with a dismissive gesture. 'You think that matters to me? I'd rather have died and actually done something to stop this than fail completely! Because no matter what you say, that's exactly what happened - I failed, Garrus!'

Garrus frowned and raised a palm. 'Calm down, we got what we needed - the witness. There's no sense in beating yourself up over this. Just let it go.'

'I can't just let this go! I could have stopped all of this, I...'

Arlen's voice faded into the mass of noise, lost amid the chiming of medical equipment and the intense murmurs of the doctors and clinic staff as they went about their work.

After a few long seconds, Garrus tilted his head. 'Are you done?' he asked quietly, his tone laced with disdain, 'If you're not then I don't mind letting you finish your little speech back in my office.'

Arlen opened his mouth to respond but Garrus cut him off, 'You can have your doubts, Arlen, I can't deny you that but you've got more important things to worry about than your own guilt. Part of this job is knowing that you won't always get the results you want, that you always could've done more. But right now there's something bigger going on, something that needs you to keep your mind sharp. Can you do that?'

Arlen blinked at the question. He realised he was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched into tight, aching fists. His teeth throbbed with a distant pain and he relaxed his jaw, unaware until then of how hard he had been grinding them together.

He inhaled slowly, shutting his eyes as he collected his senses. Garrus was correct, he knew. He would be no good to the investigation if he allowed himself to become drawn into mindless brooding.

Nodding once, he raised his head, forcing himself into a steadier frame of mind.

'I'm sorry, you're right,' he said earnestly, 'I…I'll be okay.'

Garrus looked at him warily for a moment, appraising him with a steady eye. When the reply finally came, its tone was one of understanding, 'I know you will. Today was your first taste of real danger and the experience can shake you up in ways you can't prepare for. You have to learn from it, take strength from it. By doing that you'll be able to deal with it next time - and in your line of work there _will_ be a next time.'

Arlen reached up to scratch the back of his neck. Though his conscience still burned, he knew Garrus' words were more than just sound advice. They were the truths of combat. The training of one's body and mind went far beyond simulations and routines. It encompassed everything, even small hardships and seemingly menial tasks that coalesced into a hardened shell of experience that could withstand anything. He would grow stronger, as Garrus said.

'So, what's our next move?' he asked, eager to continue the search for whatever their terrorist had planted in Citadel Tower.

'I just spoke to Lina. Apparently the perp visited a salarian trader not far from here by name of Morlan, proprietor of uh…' Garrus paused to scratch his head. 'Morlan's Famous Shop.'

The name raised Arlen's brow. 'I've…never heard of it.'

'Yeah, surprising, huh?' Garrus smirked, 'In any case, this Morlan character provided Crixus with a component of his bomb. We don't know what it is yet but I have a feeling Morlan's going to tell us all we need to know.'

'He'll at least be able to tell us where he got the part from, maybe even who shipped it to the Citadel,' Arlen realised, 'It could be the key to tracking down whoever's carrying out this attack.'

'Exactly,' Garrus agreed.

In an instant, Arlen became animated with new determination. He brought up his omni-tool to find the directions to Morlan's shop already forwarded by JSTF, and smiled as he felt a surge of motivation.

'Well, what are we waiting for?' he asked, turning to make his way out. He paused when he saw Garrus was not following and he looked at his partner, puzzled.

'I'm not going,' Garrus said, his voice hard, 'Someone needs to stay here with the witness in case she comes to. If she wakes up then we could have the bomb's location immediately, without the need to search half the Citadel. I'll wait here in the clinic while you go and question Morlan.'

'W-what?' Arlen stuttered. He felt his easy confidence of only moments before disappear and a pang of self-doubt filled him. 'Garrus, I…I can't do this by myself!'

'I know,' Garrus conceded, his expression thoughtful beneath his combat visor, 'After what happened with Crixus I'd be crazy to send you anywhere without backup. With that in mind, I arranged a meeting for you in a bar called Dark Star, out in Zakera ward.'

'A meeting? With who?'

Garrus smiled knowingly. 'Just an old friend of mine, one who owes me a favour. They're in C-Sec but it's kinda…off the books, so to speak. Still, they should be able to help you get answers from Morlan. Just go to Dark Star and order a drink. They'll find you.'

The cryptic instruction sent a shiver of suspicion through Arlen but he had no time to argue. Nodding his understanding, he left without another word.

Garrus' eyes remaining on Arlen's back until the recruit disappeared from sight, after which he took a seat and watched impassively as I'Layna's body shuddered with the medics' desperate efforts to keep her alive.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Dark Star was one of Zakera ward's small number of 'clean' clubs, a place that did not - or appeared not to - sully its reputation by succumbing to the allure of organised crime like so many of its ilk.

The difference was clear from the very instant Arlen set foot inside. Though he was a newcomer to the Citadel, he knew enough to spot the small signs that told him Dark Star was not a place in which he needed to relentlessly look over his shoulder.

The music, while not exactly peaceful, was soothing, the flowing melodies chosen to ease clubbers into a serene state of mind. That it actually seemed to work was what surprised Arlen as he watched the men and women on a nearby dance floor. They swayed and bobbed like objects atop ocean waves, some pressing closer to one another and enjoying the steadily pulsing beat as one.

Arlen shifted on the uncomfortable bar stool. He'd been sitting there for what felt like an eternity and constantly had to adjust his armour lest he slide off.

His fidgeting attracted an unsavoury glance from the turian bartender and the man's chalky markings flashed as he made his way over.

'A little young to be in here, aren't you, boy?' he asked gruffly.

Infuriated with the challenge of simply remaining in his seat, Arlen held his temper, knowing it would be unwise to cause any trouble.

'I'm meeting someone here,' he replied, 'Though I wouldn't mind a glass of water, if that's ok?'

The older man offered him nothing but a flat stare for several moments before giving him a grudging response, 'Just so long as you hide yourself in one of the booths. We don't need you taking the bar seats away from people old enough to get wasted.'

Arlen's dark mandibles flexed angrily but a sudden, high-pitched squeal of delight tore his attention away from the bartender. Looking to his right, he was surprised to find a human woman at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed lazily as her voice fell from her lips in a drunken rush.

'Oh come on, Tez!' she said to the bartender with a rough laugh, 'Leave the poor kid alone. He said he only wants to wait for someone, right?'

The turian shrugged. 'I get paid to serve drinks, Christina, I don't care what the hell he wants to do but if he ain't drinkin' then he's no use to me.'

The woman tittered and a shock of long, bright blonde hair fell across her eyes, sticking to her damp skin.

Arlen did not know what to say. Part of him wanted to just push the intoxicated human away and yell at her to stop annoying him. Instead, he grasped the glass of water thrust onto the counter in front of him and looked into the rippling liquid, silently willing her to lose interest and go away.

He almost gasped as something wrapped itself around his right arm and he looked with a mixture of bemusement and horror as the woman attached herself to him, hugging his arm with a force he could feel through his armour. Her body was barely covered with a tight red dress and her exposed flesh pressed against him.

'W-what are you doing?' he stuttered.

'Aww,' the woman cooed, pressing her face into the smooth surface of his armour, 'Turians are so cute when they're shy!'

The bartender shook his head. The expression he bore was not of disgust but rather of pity. Evidently he had seen this happen before.

'Come on, Christina,' he growled, 'I think you've had enough to drink and it's time you went home. You've been here all night and you ain't a salarian. I know you humans need to sleep now and again. Leave the boy be and let him take a nice, quiet seat alone.'

'No way!' she cried out, garnering a few amused looks from the other patrons as she tugged at Arlen, prizing him from the stool. 'I'm 'gonna have to steal this one away from you, Tez!'

The absurdity of it all made Arlen's temper flare. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, ‘Let go of me!’

They waded through the sea of club goers, cutting a path through the twisting crowd and churning up the fine mist of vapour that hung in the air.

Arlen glanced at the woman once more as she staggered toward the male restroom, laughing as she pulled him along with her.

'Don't worry, cutie,' she giggled, pressing herself close to his ear, 'We'll be all alone in here.'

With a dawning sense of dread, Arlen could only watch as she opened the restroom door and roughly pushed him in.

The music could still be heard as a soft thrum through the walls and the light seemed dim, almost gloomy after the garish colours of the dance floor. The gentle glow made the woman's body, slick with sweat after hours of dancing, shine as if made of plastic. To Arlen's left, a salarian emptied his bowels, trying to ignore their behaviour with increasing exasperation.

'Look,' growled Arlen, resisting the temptation to scream at her, 'I'm supposed to be meeting someone here and you're wasting my time! I'm flattered and all but you're clearly not in your right mind so I'm leaving right n-'

His words were stolen as a pair of hot, soft lips pressed against his. Stunned beyond all thought, Arlen felt himself being pushed back against the wall as the woman curled a hand around the back of his neck. Her hair, almost white in the muted lighting, fell in long strands to tickle his face and she smiled at him mischievously.

The salarian muttered some vague, disgusted comment before rapidly finishing his business and speeding from the restroom. Arlen watched him go enviously.

The woman squashed her body against his as the door hissed shut, then without warning the pressure against Arlen's suit receded.

The human backed away and swept her hair cleanly behind her ears.

When she spoke again her voice had lost all of its former sluggishness, becoming a sharp, commanding snap, 'Man, Garrus wasn't kidding when he said you were green. A glass of water? Seriously?'

Arlen's lips moved soundlessly, his eyes wide in their sockets.

Someone completely different stood before him now, her poise straight and eyes focused where they had been listless with drink only moments ago. The transformation was extraordinary and he could not find the words to express his shock.

'I take it you're Arlen?' she asked testily, placing a hand on her hip, 'Well? Are you going to answer me or are we 'gonna hang around the men's room all day?'

Arlen blinked and after a moment's hesitation his features twisted angrily. 'What- _You're_ who I'm supposed to be meeting? I was told to meet a C-Sec officer, not a damn hooker!'

She shrugged, meeting his eyes without a flinch. 'Unfortunately, when you've been working undercover in the wards for the past six months you don’t get the luxury of making proper introductions, especially when someone calls in a favour while you’re on the job. I had to make sure neither of us were being followed.'

His expression softening, Arlen glanced around at his location. They were completely alone and with the only entrance to the room mere feet away, there would be no chance of eavesdropping.

The woman gave a thin smile as she offered her hand in a more formal greeting. 'Detective Amanda Keller, senior lieutenant in C-Sec's Investigation Division.'

Warily, Arlen grasped her hand and gave it a slight tug. 'Arlen Kryik, I'm training under Garrus at the moment. Things are a little more hectic than I'd anticipated, though.'

Keller gave a low chuckle. 'Yeah, I'd say so. If I didn’t know Garrus so well, I’d say he was out of his mind. A dead terrorist and a bomb in Citadel Tower? Not exactly an ideal first day on the job. Garrus gave me most of the details but I've still got some blanks that need filling in.'

A voice rose from outside the door and Keller paused, her eyes drawn to it instantly. They waited, the thumping of the music their only companion before the voice shouted a drunken obscenity and moved away at last.

Keller released her breath and shook her head. 'I tell 'ya, if it was anyone else but Garrus asking me to do this I'd tell them to go to hell. I'm supposed to be investigating red sand traffickers, not terror suspects. If I get caught, the captain'll have my badge and rank, even if we do save the Citadel.’

Her voice was thick with reluctance and Arlen understood it immediately. He wouldn’t have blamed her for refusing to help but instead she smiled at him.

‘Still, I think I can risk tagging along with you until you get what you need. Not one second longer though, all right?'

Arlen nodded gratefully. Despite the risks, Morlan still had to be interrogated and if the salarian had an ounce of sense he would have gone into hiding by then. The trader was their vital link between the weapon and the terrorists.

'It's a deal,' Arlen replied, 'Hopefully Morlan will still be around by the time we get there.'


	6. Chapter 6

'Sir, I strongly urge you to reconsider,' Chellick said, his even tone masking his increasing exasperation as he glared at Executor Pallin’s projection.

His small office overlooked the rest of the JSTF command centre, though it was secluded enough to afford the privacy Chellick needed for his more confidential communications. He was glad of it as he stood rigidly in front of Pallin, the image shimmering as it hung in the air.

'What you're urging me to do is postpone this summit,’ the executor replied, ‘A summit months in the planning and one that could be instrumental to the territorial makeup of the galaxy, and all for little more than guesswork on your part.’

Stiff with irritation, Chellick lowered his head and tried not to let his temper get the better of him. ‘We have one dead terrorist and confirmation of a suspect device planted in Citadel Tower. Surely that goes beyond mere guesswork?’

Pallin’s gravelled voice was given a synthesised edge by the terminal's speakers but Chellick suspected the response would have been no less robotic had he been there in person, ‘You’re assuming what the asari told you was accurate. She was obviously scared, afraid for her life and those maintenance tunnels are always dark. Who's to say what she did or didn’t see?’

‘That’s exactly why we need to postpone the talks,’ Chellick argued, ‘Until we know exactly what Crixus planted, we can’t leave anything to chance.’

Pallin’s tone was grim. 'You know I can't do that, Chellick. I've been given strict instructions not to let anything disrupt these talks unless absolutely necessary, unless there’s not even a _shred_ of doubt in my mind. To do so would be to invite criticism, of C-Sec and of you. The Joint Security Task Force was formed to neutralise these situations before they can cause any damage. That damage includes the cancellation of Council hearings that could change the face of galactic politics. If we evacuate the Tower now, people will ask why JSTF is being funded to do what C-Sec can do on its own.'

'You know as well as I do that if Enforcement or Investigation had handled this, the local district captains would still be arguing over who has clearance to enter the Tower, let alone put a stop to Crixus,' Chellick bit back, unable to stop his voice from rising, 'Even now, they’d be sitting on their thumbs, wading through red tape while some extremist plotted to blow the Council sky-high!'

'An exaggeration,' Pallin said, cutting him off, 'I read your report. Crixus Nantia was a soldier, not a mass murderer. I don't believe the device he planted was truly a bomb, nor do I believe the Forgotten Legion would carry out such an indiscriminate act of violence. It wouldn't suit their goals and would only harm their claims of legitimacy in turian political circles. If the threat does exist it's likely to be a fake, something to simply scare us into calling off the summit.'

Chellick closed his eyes. He could not believe what he was hearing and as the reality of Pallin's denial sank in he spoke again, the air hissing from his nostrils as he struggled to remain composed, 'We have an eye witness, one who saw Crixus plant what she believed to be an explosive device. From the description she gave at the time, her judgement sounded credible, certainly credible enough to warrant our immediate attention. Not to mention that if it hadn't been for our agents on the ground then Crixus would have killed her. That goes far beyond simple scare-tactics. Sir, we can't just turn a blind eye to this!'

'You have a witness who was terrified beyond any rational thought, Chellick,' Pallin replied dourly, 'Besides, I'Layna Naris works directly for the asari councillor as an assistant, a damned secretary. I don't think her opinion on what constitutes an explosive device holds much water. Keep that in mind before you're tempted to rush out on any wild goose chases.'

Swallowing his resentment, Chellick ran the arguments through his mind. He tried to think of something that could turn the executor to his side, to make him see how real the danger was.

In return, Pallin gave him a stern glare and ceased all movement, as if to enforce his words through the simple act of stillness.

'I'm not here to second guess you, Chellick, nor am I here to tell you how to run your team. I understand that you believe there is a serious threat to the Council but you have to look at this from my perspective. You've headed undercover ops long enough to know the score. If you went chasing down every single lead that presented itself, you'd tie yourself in knots following them all. I firmly believe the threat died with Crixus Nantia and unless I receive _concrete_ evidence to the contrary then the summit will go ahead on schedule.'

His final words were heavy with emphasis and Chellick held back a scowl only by the strength of his understanding. The executor answered to the most powerful men and women in galactic politics and he trod a fine line between appeasing those he worked for whilst protecting their lives. One wrong decision would see not only Pallin's job in peril but an investigation that would hurt all they had built in JSTF.

Chellick finally relented, with poorer grace than intended. 'By your word, Sir. If we receive any further intel I'll be sure to let you know immediately.'

He reached down to cut the transmission when Pallin added, 'It goes without saying that if you find the terrorist device, make an assessment based on its destructive potential and time needed to disarm before making your call, but you don't need me to tell you how vital these talks with the Alliance are.' Pallin’s eyes drifted to the side for a moment, almost guiltily. 'If the humans get wind of this then it'll make the Council, and by extension the whole of C-Sec look like a joke. In negotiations like these, every weakness is seized upon and the last thing we need is for humanity's position to get any stronger. This summit is about more than territory or trade rights. It's about sending a message to the Alliance that humanity will not have everything handed to them on a silver platter.'

The remark brought a twitch of distaste to Chellick's features and he nodded slowly. 'Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we, Sir?’ he muttered bitterly, ‘I'll make sure you're informed as and when the situation changes.'

'Good,' Pallin responded distantly as he became lost in his work once again. He said nothing further and waited for Chellick to hang up, his image disappearing with a grainy flicker.

Chellick grimaced angrily. A terrorist had been caught trying to carry out an attack on Citadel Tower itself and the executor had flatly refused to evacuate the area unless the bomb had been found and there was no possibility of disarming it.

 _Foolish beyond belief_ , Chellick thought to himself with a snort, _By then it’ll be too late_.

'Chellick?' a soft voice behind him asked cautiously.

Starting mildly, he glanced over his shoulder to find Lorica standing with her hands laced together. The usually confident woman seemed reluctant to disturb him, her brow knotted in concern.

'What is it, Lorica? Have the Special Response teams reported in?'

'No,' she replied, her disappointment as palpable as his own, 'but Captain T'Rana from Network is here. She's waiting in the briefing room, whenever you have a moment.'

With a weary sigh, Chellick led Lorica out of the office. ‘As if I had nothing better to do, now I have to personally brief other divisions. What happened to ‘streamlining the chain of command’?’

‘Comes with the job, boss,’ Lorica replied, forcing an uneasy smile, ‘I don’t think the executor would want me or even Lina doing it.’

‘Pressures of command, huh? Well, let’s hope Captain T’Rana has grown more receptive over time. I worked under the woman when I was fresh out the academy, a real ball-breaker.’ He paused and a sly smile spread his mandibles. ‘Come to think of it, I outrank her now. Interesting.’

Their path took them down a wide staircase perched on the command centre's highest tier and together they descended into the mass of bustling analysts. They seemed to redouble their efforts as Chellick passed, acutely aware their leader was amongst them.

'We've also had confirmation from Garrus that he and Arlen are en route to Morlan,' Lorica continued, 'We have two Special Response tactical teams standing by to intercept if he bolts, and we also have a gunship fuelled and ready to go if his intel leads to a Legion cell on the Citadel. However you look at it, I'd like to think we're ready for anything.'

'So long as the go-order comes from no one but myself,' Chellick muttered in reply, his mood soured by his exchange with Pallin, 'We can't risk open war in the streets.'

Lorica did not respond immediately and looked away for a moment, a slight gesture Chellick did not miss.

‘All right,’ he said, coming to a stop. Dipping his head, he lowered his voice so only she could hear, ‘How much of what Pallin said did you overhear?’

Lorica’s lips twisted gently, her worry clear to see. ‘Only that he’s refusing to clear Citadel Tower, despite a confirmed threat to the Council. Does that seem stupid to anyone other than me?’

Chellick answered slowly, measuring her reaction as he went on, 'It’s not that simple. The Alliance talks have to go ahead unless the danger is immediate. It might seem risky but a lot's riding on this summit and the consequences of calling it off could be just as destructive as any bomb.'

The asari frowned. It was clear she did not accept the logic any more than Chellick did.

'So they're just going to wait until the last damn minute?' she asked incredulously.

Chellick folded his arms and turned to the main screen. The face of General Krassus and his men still filled it, staring at them all as if silently, ruthlessly willing them to fail.

'That's not even my biggest concern,' he sighed lightly as he watched the screen shift into thick walls of text.

Lorica bristled at the pessimism in his voice. 'What do you mean?'

'Although none of this fits the Legion's profile,' he said carefully, 'we can't rule out that this weapon may be something far deadlier than your typical IED. With Krassus' connections to the turian military, we may be looking at a potential weapon of mass destruction.'

The statement sent an icy chill through Lorica and her breathing slowed to a whisper. Chellick didn't blame her for being frightened. Even a low-yield nuclear device, if detonated in the right place, could do terrible, even irreparable damage to the Citadel. It could destroy vital life support systems, send debris tearing through the wards, even do catastrophic harm to the essential water and power lines that ran through the station. Such damage could even be beyond the keepers' ability to repair.

She did not reply and merely cast her eyes down to the ground, their azure hues glistening.

Chellick cleared his throat gently to bring her back to her senses.

'Of course, I'm probably wrong,' he said, though the reassurance seemed hollow even to him.

Lorica looked up at him, meeting his jade-green gaze.

'I pray to the Goddess you are.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The human orderly barred Garrus' path, his arms outstretched protectively as he glowered and issued his warning again, more forcefully than before, 'It's out of the question! You heard the doctor, the patient is not to be disturbed!'

'I'm telling you,' Garrus growled as he jabbed a finger into the man's chest, 'We have to wake her! You don't realise what's at stake here. That asari has information that can save the lives of thousands of people!'

The orderly merely narrowed his eyes and raised his voice, 'And I'm telling _you_ , this woman has suffered severe trauma! The shock of forcibly inducing consciousness at this point could cause anything from amnesia to permanent brain damage! I'm sorry officer, I really am but I won't risk the life of this patient for you or anyone!'

Enraged, Garrus turned sharply and paced impotently around the room. Every moment wasted was one less until the bomb went off and Garrus chafed under the choking pressure of his situation. Nothing mattered to him but the single, immovable desire to find the terrorist device and again he stormed forward, stopping just short of the medic's face.

'What's your name?'

Blinking in confusion, the orderly answered as his arms retreated to his sides, 'Daniel.'

'Listen to me, Daniel,' Garrus said, the intensity of his voice bringing an unsteady shudder from the young man, 'Right now you have the chance to help me save more than one life. I understand you're only doing your job but you need to let me do mine. By stopping me from reviving that woman you're endangering more people than you can imagine, even the Citadel Council itself!'

Hesitation washed over Daniel and his eyes shifted uncertainly, scanning Garrus for a moment before hardening once more.

'I'm sorry,' he said resolutely, 'It's not that I don't believe you but what you're talking about is potentially murdering that woman. The doctor was very clear, the patient needs to rest and any shocks to her system could send her into arrest. Waking her at this point is entirely out of the question.'

Garrus pursed his lips as the moans of distant wounded began to press in and the seconds passed with neither man willing to give any ground.

Finally, the tension seemed to get the better of Daniel and he shook his head. 'I have work to do,' he announced firmly, 'Do us all a favour and stay out of our way. You have my assurances that if Miss Naris wakes up and providing she is stable, you'll be permitted to speak to her. If you insist on waiting here then please don't interrupt us, all right?'

Garrus did not respond and simply stared past him at the unconscious asari. The knowledge that she could end the threat of attack once and for all tore at his nerves and he turned from Daniel to lean back against a nearby wall, folding his arms across his chest.

'You made your point. If it's all the same with you, though, I'd like to keep an eye on her. Just in case she comes to.'

'That won't be necessary,' Daniel replied warily, 'She's being closely monitored by our local VI. If she regains consciousness we will be notified and we can make sure she's in a suitable state to answer your questions.'

Garrus scowled and his gaze seemed to bore through Daniel, causing the young man to shift uncomfortably on the spot. Perhaps it was the baleful expression or his own impatience, but after a brief time Daniel shook his head again and departed, his footsteps lightly echoing through the corridors.

Garrus flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist before releasing them. The action sent a tingle of pain through his hands as the armour gripped his flesh tightly and his mandibles pulsed gently while he seethed and fretted, unable to relax.

It sickened him to know that I'Layna's information was so close at hand, yet could cost her her life. She’d been caught up in events that were too terrible for one such as her, that were far beyond her comprehension. Unfortunately, he also knew from bitter experience that the galaxy offered little in the way of justice. No matter how good or innocent a person was, they were all equally susceptible to the universe's cruelty.

It was during this quiet moment, when the only sound that accompanied him was the dull murmur of the sick and infirm, that the victims of Doctor Saleon forced their way into Garrus' mind.

He still recalled the horror and revulsion as a turian he'd interviewed all those years ago, an employee of Saleon, began to bleed during questioning. He remembered how deep blue fluid began to trickle from the man's side, alerting them to its presence with a faint patter. The turian had panicked and the stream of blood thickened into a river as he’d shot up from his seat, sending a dark flood across the interrogation room floor.

The turian's screams grew into crazed, delirious shrieks as dozens of poorly-sealed incisions opened all over his body and his clothes became slick with gore. Garrus had tried to restrain him but his hands quickly gummed up with blood and he couldn't find a grip. After what seemed an eternity, help arrived and the turian was anaesthetised.

As the limp body was dragged out, Garrus had looked down at his dark, sticky fingers and felt the blood cooling on his lips. The metallic taste was still strong on his tongue, even after all this time.

The experience had been the beginning of a harrowing road for Garrus and he trod it once more in the gentle hush of the clinic. As the memories coursed through his mind he once again turned to I'Layna. He could not, _would_ not let another chance for justice slip from his grasp.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Detective Keller strode confidently over flooring that had been polished until it reflected the rich lighting of the surrounding markets in stark detail.

Her dress had been replaced with a dark blue C-Sec uniform and her flimsy, impractical shoes with a pair of sturdy boots that lent themselves more to her brisk pace.

Arlen walked alongside her, almost struggling to keep up. Around them the market kiosks wrapped around the twisting boulevard that straddled the outer edge of the wards. To their left, the concourse gave way to a balcony and beyond that a vast window that bathed them all in the lurid violet of the Serpent Nebula, the great cloud of gas that encased the Citadel.

Again Arlen marvelled at how different Keller was to the creature that had thrown herself upon him less than an hour ago. He recalled how their transit shuttle had shook as she scrambled into her fresh set of clothes and how her elbow almost caught his cheek as she tied her blonde hair into a high ponytail, which now bounced energetically as she walked.

'So, you already know this Morlan character?' Arlen asked, cringing slightly between breaths. His head had ached mercilessly since the fight with Crixus and every footfall sent a dull throb through his skull.

'Yeah, everybody around here knows Morlan. He's just a guy with too much love of making a quick sale and too little sense to keep track of what he sells. Usually it's only small. An illegal mod here, an amp there, mostly harmless and he usually coughs up the dirt on the more dangerous perps, so we tend to leave him alone for the most part.'

'So he's an informant?' Arlen asked, glancing at her curiously.

Keller chuckled and shook her head. 'No, it's more a case of he either tells us what we need to know or we run him in for shifting illegal goods. That's the kind of guy he is - put a little pressure on him and the little scumbag bends over backwards for you like an asari stripper. Like most salarians when you back them into a corner, come to think of it. Not to say they're all soft,' she quickly added, 'but it's certainly a lot easier than getting a krogan to spill his guts. To even get into the same interrogation room as one of those guys takes a quad, as they'd say.'

The thought of the slim human wrangling a confession from such a beast brought a smile to Arlen's lips and he looked at Keller with a renewed spark of interest.

'You sound like you have a good handle on the different species out here,' he said, 'Better than I have at least, though that isn't saying much. You must've worked on the Citadel for a long time.'

'Too long, some might say,' she answered with a knowing wink, 'Hell, I've lived here since I was two and a half; I had to learn how to get along with others or I wouldn't have made it anywhere near C-Sec.'

'You've been here since you were _two and a half?_ ' Arlen gasped, 'Then that would make you?'

Keller smiled and tilted her head coyly. 'A tip for 'ya kid, never talk about a woman's age. It's not our favourite subject.'

Arlen's eyes widened momentarily and his mouth hung open as embarrassment gushed through him. 'I'm sorry, Detective, I didn't realise and I didn't mean to cause offence.'

Laughing, Keller raised her hands. 'Relax, I'm only kidding! Jeez, you've got to be the most apologetic turian I've ever met, and that's saying something.'

'I'm sorry,' Arlen said before bringing a palm to his face, realising he had apologised again.

Keller smiled warmly. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. C-Sec could always use people with good manners. You'd be surprised how many officers tend to treat the badge as an excuse to be a complete asshole to everyone they meet.'

The turian scratched the back of his neck anxiously. After meeting Harkin earlier that morning, he was inclined to agree.

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut short as Keller interrupted, 'Morlan should be just down these stairs.'

Arlen glanced to his right as the floor gave way to a broad, brightly-lit staircase that descended further into the markets. As he kept an eye out for possible avenues of escape, he became aware of how many people flooded the small area. Turians of many markings mixed with asari while elcor lumbered past, their heavy speech giving the air a deep thrum which clashed with the much higher pitches of salarians.

The stairs were wide and shallow but it did not stop Arlen from pressing to the side instinctively as a pair of krogan pushed their way up, the notches on their dark crests glistening as they moved.

'And there he is,' said Keller with a nod as they cleared the final few steps.

Arlen peered across at a kiosk on the far edge of the area, flanked by turian-run stalls that glowed with strips of red neon. The noise was far greater on this lower floor, he noted, the murmur of business punctuated by a cry of anger as a human was denied a refund by a nearby merchant.

His eyes drifted around Morlan's small store, taking in every detail.

'You think he'll try and run?' he asked.

Keller smiled and turned to him. 'Not a chance. Just follow my lead, listen carefully to what he tells us and if you hear anything strange then press him on it. Don't underestimate him, though. He's a salarian, which means he thinks fast and talks fast. He might be a gutless idiot for one of his kind but he's still a cut above the usual thugs.'

His mouth suddenly dry at the prospect of questioning his first suspect, Arlen followed Keller, desperately trying to push from his mind the knowledge that the lives of the Citadel Council depended on the results.


	7. Chapter 7

A merchant in the wards required many traits, the most vital of which was cleverness. With so many millions of citizens crammed into every corner of the Citadel, competition was fierce and only the clever survived.

Morlan smiled approvingly at his earnings for the day as he rifled through a few credit receipts. It was not yet noon and already he had more in his hands than he would usually have made in a week.

Indeed, amongst the packed throng of traders littering the market he'd proven himself more clever than most that day and he beamed down eagerly at the fruits of his mercantile prowess.

His fingers traced the authorisation code flashing across one of the unprocessed credit chits. That one stood out to Morlan, if only because of the red-painted turian who had delivered it. For a moment he wondered if the code could have been forged, perhaps by one of the many programs he himself had acquired from one of his fellow salarians.

Shaking his head, he purged the thought.

That turian had been dangerous, Morlan had sensed it in his every word and action, but turians did not cheat. No matter their lack of imagination and penchant for violence, they brought their silly notions of honour into everything they did and Morlan knew the credits would be there waiting for him. 

So focused was Morlan that he didn't notice the approaching C-Sec officers until it was too late.

They emerged from the crowd like a pair of blue shadows and Morlan's instincts prickled at the familiar face of Detective Keller. That one was nosey and pushy, always had been.

With a heavy sinking feeling in his stomach, Morlan hid his valuable credit chits from view. It was required that all consumer transactions on the Citadel be carried out by omni-tool, a model of transparency and fiscal responsibility. The older, less traceable methods were generally frowned upon by many and no one frowned harder than C-Sec. Morlan had discovered this the hard way, and he always ensured the chits were kept out of sight whenever the dogs came sniffing.

The officers drew near and Morlan's gaze was drawn to Keller's associate, a new face. He was young for a turian and Morlan hid a derisive smirk. A recruit, obviously, there to study and absorb. No doubt he was only just learning how to write tickets and file reports.

Morlan did not care. Whatever C-Sec wanted, he would demonstrate his cleverness once again and leave them empty-handed.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

Arlen saw the salarian merchant steel himself visibly and became very aware of the people that flowed across the market in a constant, unbroken stream.

Murmuring voices swelled, threatening to distract him from his purpose and he looked at Keller to find her gaze fixed resolutely on their suspect. He mimicked the action, taking a measure of confidence from her cold expression.

Morlan smiled widely at them, spreading his arms in greeting. 'Hello there! Welcome to Morlan's famous shop! You want many g-'

'Can it, Morlan,' Keller snapped as she drew to a halt, 'You know I'm not interested in your crappy merchandise. I'm here to ask you a few questions.'

Immediately, the hard tone brought a shocked stillness to Morlan. Arlen watched as the salarian's grey scales picked up the light of the market, edging them with white as his head rocked from side to side in agitation. His eyes were a pair of dark orbs that flitted about nervously and when it came, his reply was a rush of jumbled words that sounded as if they'd been learned by watching too many commercials.

'Officer Keller, yes, I know you! You want information? Of course but nothing I have, no, not of any interest to you!' He was jittery, almost comically so and the harder Morlan tried to hide it, the worse it became. 'Please, look at my fine stock! See human marital endowment aids, very popular right now!'

For a moment Arlen thought he was merely putting on an act, a charade to fool them into letting their guards down. As the seconds passed however, the merchant only grew more anxious and Keller took advantage of it without hesitation.

'Stow it, slimeball. A few hours ago you sold something to a turian named Crixus Nantia. We've got footage of you handing over some kind of circuit board to this turian. I want to know exactly what you gave him and how you got it.'

'It was a navigation unit for old freighter,' Morlan replied quickly, 'Very rare indeed, I was lucky to find! He was lucky also, nice for him to get at low, low price! Did special discount, old friend you see-'

'What kind of freighter?' Keller interrupted.

Morlan answered, though more ponderously than before and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, 'Kowloon modular freighter. Very common, but older ships need Black Sun nav boards for VIs to function properly. Black Sun components difficult to find but not for me!'

'What series nav board?' asked Keller.

'Thirteen-A.'

'Age?'

'Um...four years, I think?' Morlan replied, a ripple of fear playing across his features.

Keller leaned intently over the merchant's counter, her golden ponytail falling across her shoulder. She spoke slowly, her eyes boring into Morlan, 'You _think?_ A wrong nav card in one of those things could send a ship like that into the middle of a sun or a black hole. Even a two-bit junk shifter like you should know that.'

Morlan thought on it a moment, then answered again, though his voice wavered with uncertainty, ‘Yes. Yes, certain it was four years.’

Keller narrowed her eyes. 'And this turian was the captain of this ship? Navigator?'

The noise of the passing crowd had become distant and muted to Arlen as he listened to the exchange with all his concentration. He saw Morlan swallow nervously, clearly unused to this kind of persistence.

'I don't know,' the salarian mumbled, 'Stops in on occasion but not often, don't know him personally. Part was special order, had it sourced from off-station.'

That was it. Arlen cleared his throat and his warm, flanging tone rose over the clamour of the nearby shoppers. Even Keller seemed surprised to hear him speak.

'I thought you said he was an old friend of yours?' he asked calmly.

'No!' Morlan shouted, waving his hands in panic, 'No, not old friend, figure of speech, you see! I uh…'

The words died in his throat as Keller reached across the counter, gripping Morlan by the collar of his suit.

'I think it's time you told us the truth, Morlan,' the detective growled, 'What did you sell to that turian?'

Squirming in her grasp, Morlan forced the voice from his throat, 'I don't know!' he said despairingly, 'They told me to hand it over when he came! Paid well, couldn't turn down an offer for so much, couldn't afford to!'

'Who's 'they'?'

'Can't tell you! They'll kill me!' Morlan wailed. His eyes shone with genuine terror and Arlen almost felt a pang of regret for the fool. It was obvious he had become embroiled in events much larger than he'd imagined but with so many lives at stake, it was difficult to find much sympathy.

Keller pulled him closer with a sharp jerk.  'Let me tell you something, Morlan. The turian you sold that part to was a terrorist, a man who only an hour ago planted a bomb in Citadel Tower. You sold him a part of that bomb, didn't you?'

'Wha...' Morlan began, horror bleeding the word from his lips. His face slackened in shame and humiliation, the expression growing so sickened that Arlen thought he could very well vomit in front of them all.

'Now let us make this clear to you,' Keller continued, 'If something bad happens, we won't be bringing you in on contraband or smuggling charges. You'll be an accomplice to a terrorist action. Any resulting deaths will be on your hands and you _will_ be charged accordingly. Do you understand me?'

'I swear, wasn't told what it was,' Morlan replied, his head lowered in sullen disgrace.

'All right,' said Keller. Her tone softened slightly and she released her grip on his suit, but her eyes were still as if made of steel. 'I believe you, but only because I’ve been busting your slimy balls for years now and I know you're stupid enough to do something like this. Now, I want the records of where you got that part from and I want them now.'

Morlan mumbled incoherently, eyes downcast and hands fumbling, smoothing out the unsightly wrinkles in his clothes. 'Only have an alias. Came from off-station, as I said, Omega to be exact. Don't usually take orders from there, normally too much risk.'

Arlen turned to Keller. ‘I've heard of Omega, somewhere to avoid if memory serves me right. A real cesspool.'

Nodding, Keller's unflinching gaze fell upon Morlan once more and he quailed under those cold blue eyes.

'Give me everything you have,’ she ordered, ‘Invoices, receipts, shipping manifests, I want it all. If you leave anything out then I'll be back here in an hour with a Special Response unit, do I make myself clear?'

Morlan bobbed his head and set about rifling through stacks of files and OSDs under the counter, ignoring the inquisitive glances from passing shoppers and neighbouring merchants. It was not long before he set down several datapads on the counter, their frames caked with old dust.

Immediately, Arlen began to link them to his omni-tool. The curves of his face were lined with amber as the instrument did its work, passing a thin layer of light over each in turn before sending out an acknowledging chime. He quickly got through them all and his brow furrowed as the analysis results came up.

'The name _Bithcon Dynamics_ appears several times in these records. The shipping dates and descriptions are a solid match.’ He looked up at Morlan. ‘This was the company who supplied you the part?'

'Yes. That is the alias I spoke of, don't know anything else. No need to ask questions if the credits are good.'

'Well, it's a start,' said Keller, 'Stay out of trouble, Morlan. If you receive anything else from this company, this Bithcon Dynamics, you let us know right away.'

The merchant nodded his agreement with a force that could have snapped his thin neck.

Keller turned away, catching Arlen by surprise. After a final glance at Morlan he followed, voicing his doubt as they walked, ‘We’re letting him go? Just like that?’

The detective wove through the crowd expertly, leaving Arlen to dodge whoever had stepped aside for her.

‘As you can see,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘Morlan’s worth more on the street than inside. Besides, you’ve got bigger fish to fry, right?’

The question brought some clarity to Arlen’s thoughts. Though he loathed the idea of letting a criminal go free, there was no denying their priorities or their purpose. One Morlan was not worth the hundreds of lives Crixus’ bomb would claim.

With that in mind he followed Keller, eager to follow up on Bithcon Dynamics and uncover the next piece of the puzzle.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

Lina sighed wearily and placed a hand on her visor, languidly resting her head as she continued to prod the terminal keyboard. The action was now automatic, the monotony of sifting through vast collections of security reports making itself felt as the task wore on. People and places flashed by before her trained eyes, which moved smoothly behind dark glass as they scanned, watching for anything suspicious.

There was depressingly little to catch her attention. Though the scant few districts Crixus had visited were saturated with surveillance devices, Lina had long lost count of how many vids she'd watched with nothing to show for it. A single customs gate had responded to the description passed around Council departments but aside from his meeting with Morlan, Crixus' movements were still unknown.

Lina started as a hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up to see Milo smiling down at her.

Her temper flared instantly at the interruption but she controlled herself enough to bite down on an angry response.

'Are you okay?' he asked.

'Of course, why wouldn't I be?' she lied.

He stared at her for a moment, evidently gauging how best to continue before giving her a cautious smile. 'Okay, fair enough. If you need any help though, all you have to do is ask.'

As he turned away, Milo gently squeezed Lina’s shoulder, making her flinch. The habit of physical contact was not uncommon among humans but it did not stop the unpleasant tension that gripped her stomach, an instinctive feeling of distaste that she could not suppress.

'N-no,' she stuttered, the awkward sound surprising her, 'I appreciate the offer but you've got your own job to do. In any case, I doubt you'd be able get through these files as quickly as I can.'

'Is that a fact?' Milo chuckled playfully, 'I think I'd like to take that bet.'

'Well I wouldn't. Now stop wasting time and get back to work.'

'All right, all right!' he said lightly, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender, 'I'm just saying, you look a little tired. At least let me get you a drink or something to perk you up, okay?'

Lina narrowed her eyes, confused by a strange mixture of frustration and nervousness. She knew Milo was only trying to be friendly but the best she could muster was a huff of irritation.

'Fine, then. If you insist on it then I guess I could do with a glass of water.'

Milo's lips curled into a knowing grin and Lina frowned beneath her helmet, wondering if he sensed her true thoughts. He nodded and turned, striding smoothly between the rows of desks.

Humans were an odd bunch, Lina thought with a shake of her head. They were the most unpredictable race she had ever come across, indefinable from one to the next and always contradicting the behaviour of the last.

Nestling a hand firmly under her chin, she resumed her listless stare into the orange glow of her terminal. She could not deny the look in Milo's eyes had disturbed her, even though their exchange was both brief and uncomfortable, at least on her part. Moreover, her discomfort was an unfamiliar one, an odd sense of vertigo that gripped her whenever he smiled in that infuriating way he seemed to have perfected.

It was a strange feeling that she'd never known before and one she couldn’t help but try and analyse.

Her terminal seemed distant, even more so than moments before, when it had threatened to overwhelm her patience with insurmountable boredom. The murmurs of those around her became an indiscernible flow of sound, swimming through her helmet receptors without form or meaning.

_Why did he have to disturb me?_ Lina cursed inwardly. She'd made such good progress despite her burgeoning lethargy but now she could not concentrate no matter how hard she tried. Even the lingering warmth of Milo's hand on her shoulder, felt so keenly even beneath her suit, distracted her.

Blinking, Lina abruptly sat upright. Simply by realising she was thinking too much of the encounter, her nervousness had grown, leaping up her spine in an icy chill.

It was then she noticed Lorica.

The asari had not risen from her seat but she did not need to. Her pale eyes were locked on Lina in a fierce glare, her mouth twisting bitterly as a subordinate spoke to her, the words unheeded.

The hostility in the gaze was as much a warning as any amount of words and it took all of Lina's will to force her mind away from Milo and back to her work.

Losing herself once more in the security feeds, Lina relaxed. As a quarian, she was used to the prejudice and anger of others and had learned long ago how to put it all aside. Though she wanted nothing more than to answer Lorica with a harsh reprimand or an even stonier look of her own, they did not have the time for petty spite.

The race to find Crixus once again took over her body and mind, reassuring her as her fingers began to flicker across the keyboard.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

The clinic had grown silent. All Garrus could hear was his own heart hammering against the walls of his chest. 

Part of him recoiled in horror at what he was doing but he’d learned long ago how to silence that dissenting voice, how to lock it away and focus on what needed to be done. He couldn't let anything get in his way, not now, not when everything hinged on his next action.

I'Lyana still lay in bed, wreathed in a perfect white sheet that sank deeply into every nuance of her body. It would have been a beautiful sight were it not for the dark, sickly bruising that stained almost half of her face.

Her cheeks were swollen, giving her mouth an irregular slant while a bloody gash had been ripped across her brow, disfiguring the flesh around her right eye.

Garrus shook his head slowly. Even if she lived, she would never be the same again.

He paced carefully towards her, his stomach weak and legs numb, as if someone else were controlling them. The armour of his left hand shone under the sterile light as he tenderly brushed his fingers over I'Layna's cheek.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, 'Please, forgive me.'

The hand moved down to I'Layna's shoulder and after a final, cautious glance around the room, Garrus began to shake her. The motion was gentle at first but quickly grew in strength as she failed to respond.

'Come on, I'Layna,' he murmured, 'I need you to wake up now.'

He tried to keep his voice low but as the seconds passed without so much as a flicker of movement, he began to grow impatient.

I'Layna's body shuddered and jerked as Garrus brought his other hand to bear, taking hold of her other shoulder in a firm grip.

'I'Layna, can you hear me? Wake up!'

Nearby instruments began to beep rapidly, doing their best to alert the medical staff to I’Layna's rising heart rate. Garrus swore and quickly reached over to shut off the equipment, closing his eyes in relief as it fell silent. He did not stop trying to rouse her and almost missed the first quiet gasps as consciousness took hold.

'That's it,' he whispered gratefully before taking a nervous look over his shoulder. I’Layna would likely be mired in pain and confusion when her senses returned and he wouldn't have long until she shouted for help.

Even as the thought crossed Garrus' mind, I'Layna's eyes widened in shock at the sight of his fringe and mandibles. She tried to scream but her voice was barely more than a hiss, and her arms reached out to feebly bat him away.

'Calm down,' he said firmly as he took hold of her frantic limbs, 'I'm a C-Sec officer. Take it easy now, you're safe. You're safe.'

He repeated the words like a mantra, desperately trying to keep his voice as low and soothing as possible. I’Layna continued to struggle against him for a few more seconds but gradually, she calmed. Her blue eyes settled on Garrus, sharpened for a moment, then began to shine with tears.

Garrus relaxed his grip on her arms and took her hands in his, doing his best to comfort her.

'I'Layna, I know you're in pain right now but we don't have any time,' he pleaded, 'I need you to tell me what you saw earlier. I need you to tell me about the bomb.'

A hoarse rasp came from I'Layna's lips as tears trickled down her cheeks, leaving silvery trails. Faint traces of words formed but her voice did not come and the harsh sound seemed to agitate her further, her chest heaving as silent sobs stole her breath.

'Take it easy, your voice should come back,' Garrus said, his calm belying the cold dread he felt, having seen before what fusion-based explosives could do to living flesh. I'Layna would be lucky if she could speak again.

The realisation brought a sickening lump into Garrus' stomach. If she could not talk then his efforts would all be for nothing.

At that moment, an idea formed in his mind and his eyes snapped to a datapad resting on a nearby table.

He spoke again, willing her to understand what was at stake, 'Please, I'Layna, I need you to listen to me very carefully. My name is Garrus Vakarian, I'm an agent with C-Sec. The man who tried to kill you is dead, he can't hurt you any more but there's still a possibility he’ll murder a lot of innocent people.'

He paused to see how his words were received and he could not have missed the relief that washed over her at the mention of Crixus' death. Garrus continued slowly, knowing I'Layna could only take in so much at once in her state.

'You saw him plant what we believe to be a bomb in Citadel Tower. Right now C-Sec are searching the area but it could take them a long time to find it. I doubt we have more than a couple of hours at the most. You can save those people, I'Layna. You can save everyone. All we need is the location of that bomb.'

I'Layna sagged visibly and Garrus could not imagine how much willpower it took for the asari to simply keep herself conscious. Her breath came in ragged wisps and her glistening eyes lacked focus, constantly wandering after no more than a few seconds.

They grew glassy as Garrus picked up the datapad and taking a knee, he settled beside I’Layna and took her hand. The other offered the datapad to her and he was glad his voice did not tremble with the anxiety that wracked him.

'I know you can't speak right now but I want you to describe, as best you can, where you saw him plant that bomb. Anything, even the floor you were on, any small detail will be useful.'

He didn’t know whether she was nodding or if her head was simply lolling with exhaustion but in spite of her agony, I'Layna's fingers reached out to delicately touch the datapad. Each keystroke was like a hammerfall in that quiet place, yet Garrus grinned subtly as she handed the datapad back to him in a trembling grip.

His heart soared at the simple direction; _Floor 232, Service Tunnel 14d_.

This was it. This was the information they needed.

Garrus looked up and opened his mouth to thank I’Layna but the words did not come as her body started to twitch, her eyes raised to the ceiling.

'No!' he cried out as he seized her hands, trying to hold them steady. 'Stay with me, I'Layna! Somebody, get in here! Get in here now!'

His shouts echoed cleanly against the bare walls and an instrument panel began to chime a loud warning. The tone was high and pulsed quickly, matching his rising panic.

Garrus did not need to look at the readings flashing across the panel's display to know I'Layna was dying. Her body convulsed and she squeezed Garrus' hands, the pressure unnaturally strong.

'Damn it!' Garrus yelled desperately.

He heard the thumping of running feet behind him but did not take his eyes from I'Layna's, even when he felt a violent pull from behind. An arm wrenched him backwards and though he was aware of several bodies packing themselves into the space around I'Layna, he barely noticed them. Instead he simply stared blankly as her eyes grew dull, the life leeching from them with frightening speed.

'We're losing her!' a voice yelled out, 'Who the hell shut off life support?'

'Heart rate's rising too quickly,' someone said in reply, 'We need to get her stable!'

Garrus looked on, lost in the sudden rush of noise and activity. He held the datapad with loose fingers, his arms hanging limply by his sides. His head felt light with dawning regret and his whole body felt tired to the point of exhaustion.

Once again he saw the victim of Doctor Saleon he’d interviewed so long ago, the one he had watched bleed out across the interrogation room floor. Again he caught the odour of hot, rushing blood and heard the shouts of those around him. That turian had died in agony on the cold ground. Now I'Layna too was suffering the same fate.

Garrus breathed heavily and became acutely of the armour that pushed against his chest. It felt constricting, as if it wanted to crush him. The sensation dulled his thoughts and it took several moments to register the long, droning beep that pierced the clinic air. The medical staff hung their heads, their sadness and frustration palpable.

Daniel, the orderly who had accosted Garrus earlier, looked at him accusingly. The human’s face had coloured with something more than grief and Garrus quickly came to his senses under that hard glare. He pushed aside thoughts of consequence and turned his mind to what needed to be done. He would contact Arlen with the bomb's location and after that he would face whatever he had brought upon himself.

Garrus looked again at I'Layna, his mandibles flexing as he followed the gentle curves of her body, now forever motionless. Her eyes were closed, her peaceful expression hiding the pain she had felt only moments ago. The monitoring equipment continued its long, mournful note and no one moved to turn it off as they respectfully pulled I'Layna's sheets up to cover her face.

For that, Garrus was thankful. He did not know if he could bear to look at her a moment longer.


	8. Chapter 8

A flutter passed through Captain Richard Stanford's stomach and the old man cringed, swallowing hard against the bitter fluid that rose in his throat. Even after twenty years piloting the _SS Jamestown_ back and forth between Sol and the Citadel, he'd never grown used to the effects of mass relay travel and knew with grim certainty that he would be suffering for at least another hour until his stomach settled down.

 _Getting far too old to be jumping around the galaxy,_ he told himself yet again. It was a warning he rarely heeded.

What had started as the desire of a former Alliance helmsman to see the famous heart of galactic politics had become a devotion that sent him on a monthly pilgrimage through the stars. He smiled, the weathered corners of his eyes crinkling like old paper. The sight of the massive Citadel station would lift the sickness, as it always did.

The Jamestown's bridge was modest, more akin to the cockpit of a sub-orbital craft than a luxury star liner but Stanford had never found it wanting. There was always the delicate scent of fresh coffee in the air and his seat creaked gently under his weight as he leaned over to take his cup from the holder, the sound more familiar to him than the voice of his own daughter.

He picked up his old blue mug, the worn Alliance logo now as faded as his memories. It was as much a relic as he was, one of the few remaining souvenirs of his service and yet he kept it with him always, a more treasured keepsake than any medal.

The Jamestown grumbled under Stanford as her mass envelope shifted, shrugging off the last rippling effects of the relay jump. Smiling, he patted a nearby instrument panel affectionately.

'Easy there, old girl,' he murmured, 'Won’t be long now. You know I'm every bit as keen to get there as you.'

'Did I miss something?' a young female voice asked behind him and Stanford looked at his co-pilot as she closed the cabin door behind her, a datapad clutched firmly to her chest.

Stanford's lips spread into a grin. 'Sorry, Sarah, just going through the usual pre-Citadel jitters. Been making this trip for over twenty years now and the darned place still gives me goosebumps.'

His eyes faded somewhat as he recalled a particular memory with vivid clarity. 'I was one of the first, you know. Did I ever tell you that? Back then we were all paranoid the turians'd blow us up, or maybe we'd get boarded by pirates the second we left Arcturus. A lot of fear back then. These people here, they don't much appreciate how good they got it these days. It might get dicey out in the colonies but right here is just about the safest place they can be.'

Lieutenant Sarah MacFarlane had been Stanford's co-pilot for three years and was well used to his stories and reminiscences. She shook her head, amused. 'Hard to believe now, isn't it? Only thirty years ago we were at war with these people.'

As she spoke, the first ships of the Citadel Fleet roved into view ahead, emerging as dark spikes from the haze of the nebula.

His eyes glittering, Stanford's tone grew serious. 'Knowing what I do now, I'm glad the war ended when it did.'

The captain's voice was filled with subtle awe, his gaze locked on the distant fleet that so diligently guarded their destination. 'If serving in the navy taught me anything, it's that nobody builds ships like the turians,' he said, nodding with subtle approval at the vast, angular cruisers as they kept their steady vigil. 'That, and nobody else is quite as good at using them.'

MacFarlane did not reply. She lowered her head and gently chewed her bottom lip before finally asking, 'How's Katie? Did you manage to see her at Jump Zero?'

Stanford swallowed and his eyes drifted away from the turian ships. Regret washed through him, and he was unable to keep the grief from his response, 'No. She said she was too busy.' He forced a small, bitter laugh. 'You know how these researchers are, always got their heads stuck in some test tube or other. I'm sure I'll see her soon. It's not as if either of us is going anywhere.'

Frowning, MacFarlane stabbed at her instrument panel in frustration. 'I know it's none of my business but damn it, Richard, she can't keep doing this to you. It’s been three years now and she’s still feeding you excuse after excuse. Some people would give everything they have for a father at all, let alone one even half as doting and kind as you.'

Stanford managed a smile, 'The second you put yourself up for adoption, dear girl, I'll gladly have you. For now though, your company is enough for me.'

Sighing, MacFarlane handed over her datapad. 'Well, if it'll make you feel any better, I have some nice, interesting course updates for you to chew over. Apparently, the company thinks a two day holdover at Gagarin isn't enough. They want us to-'

Another voice cut into the bridge; a warm, powerful turian intonation, edged with static. 'Jamestown, this is Citadel frigate Revelation, please acknowledge, over.'

A spike of worry passed through Stanford. Usually the Citadel Fleet would pay no mind to civilian ships, especially ones that passed through as regularly as they did. He glanced at MacFarlane, who merely shrugged.

His voice was strong and clear as he opened a communication channel, 'Revelation, this is Jamestown, acknowledging. Is there a problem, over?'

'Jamestown, you seem to be drifting off course. Please correct and stick to your approved approach vectors, over.'

Stanford frowned, confused. His eyes met MacFarlane's and the co-pilot immediately turned to a small terminal jutting from the bank of instruments to her right. Her practised fingers flew over the haptic displays and the terminal illuminated with a dense mass of yellow symbols and lines. When MacFarlane turned back, her voice was heavy with concern.

'They're right. Fifty K and getting further every second.'

His frown deepening, Stanford scratched his head, utterly perplexed. The ship's navigation VI was supposed to keep them on-course and the system had always been reliable. Even the smallest anomaly was unusual.

'Run a diagnostic on the nav computer,' he said quietly, 'Just a quick scan. I'm sure it's only a small bug in the system.'

Blinking, Stanford realised the Revelation was still awaiting his reply and he spoke calmly as he looked over the datapad MacFarlane handed to him before the transmission, 'Revelation, this is Jamestown, we are correcting now. Must've caught some drift coming out of the relay, I guess.'

'Understood,' the turian replied casually, 'We thought as much. Continue on your current heading and await further instructions from Citadel Control. Stay safe, out.'

Stanford let out a deep breath. He looked over at MacFarlane and saw her troubled expression mirroring his own, silently urging him to mention the discrepancy to the turians. Officers of Stanford's experience, however, knew there were always strange errors to deal with, odd flukes of chance that would have them scrambling to check their instruments once in a while.

He felt a small tug of conscience as the connection to the Revelation closed with a click, but until they’d run a full scan of their systems, Citadel Fleet would simply shrug off any worries.

He smiled reassuringly at MacFarlane. 'We'll have Control look everything over when we dock. Never hurts to be safe, right?'

'Right,' MacFarlane replied doubtfully as she stared out of the bridge window.

The immense purple cloud that swathed the Citadel was beginning to thin and the station emerged like a dark presence from the fog, its ward arms splayed like a great black spider.

MacFarlane cracked her knuckles as she looked at the navigation unit, the orange display flickering with scrolling information as the diagnostic program did its work.

Stanford too watched closely, his mind wandering. It was a small error, to have moved off course by such a short distance but it was an error nonetheless and these things did not happen by chance.

He cleared his throat. 'We'll be hitting the holding area soon. Go take a break if you want, I'll call you back up when it's time.'

MacFarlane nodded gratefully and rose from her seat, wincing as her bones clicked under the strain. She had been up through the night and a short nap would do her good, especially as there was little she could do until the Jamestown was granted clearance to approach.

After a final stretch, she left the bridge and Stanford cast his gaze over the distant Citadel. For a reason he could not fathom, the sight of it did not quite lift his spirits this time.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

Garrus stared at the door of the holding cell through hooded lids, devoid of all feeling and thought. The cuffs had been removed, mercifully, though he still kept his hands together as they lay on the table in front of him.

Buried deep within the bowels of JSTF, the cell was small and empty apart from the table, having been designed only to keep high-priority suspects in place long enough for them to be interrogated. If he tried hard enough, Garrus could even hear the dull thrum of the command centre from his seat, though louder still were the pair of voices just outside the door.

Chellick was there, he knew, and despite his conviction that he'd done what was needed, Garrus was not looking forward to dealing with the JSTF commander. He closed his eyes. A part of him still burned with shame over I'Layna but he could not bring himself to regret his actions.

I didn't have a choice, his mind whispered, as if to taunt him. It had to have been necessary. Her death had to have had purpose and when the terrorist plot was foiled he could take some solace from that. Until then he would not allow himself to be demonised by those who would have simply stood by and watched as their only chance to save thousands of lives slipped away.

The cell door finally cycled open and Chellick entered, his green eyes immediately fastening on Garrus. He said nothing to begin with, waiting patiently for the door to close before walking slowly and deliberately around the room.

The soft tap of his armoured feet echoed against the bare walls and his suit creaked as he placed his hands neatly behind his back, continuing to amble until he disappeared from Garrus' view. Garrus was unwilling to waste the effort turning his head and kept his gaze forward, motionless.

An eternity seemed to pass as one waited for the other to speak and the silence became oppressive, sapping Garrus' patience. It felt as if he were on trial already and though he never had any intention of trying to excuse his actions, he found himself chafing under Chellick's silent scrutiny.

Finally, the commander spoke, turning to face Garrus as his deep voice filled the room, 'I'Layna Naris was pronounced dead fifteen minutes ago.'

He let the words hang in the air for several seconds and Garrus stiffened in response. He thought he was prepared for the worst and yet he only realised then that he'd been holding on to the vain, naive hope that I'Layna could have been revived.

Chellick went on. 'We're still a long way from a coroner's report, of course but for now the general consensus is that the death was unlawful. Although there weren't any witnesses, the medical staff at the clinic will all attest to your...desperation...to question Miss Naris before she could recover.'

Garrus did not answer. He continued to gaze into an unseen middle-distance, giving no sign that he understood or even heard what was said. If Chellick had expected some kind of protest, he would be sorely disappointed.

Chellick spoke calmly, as if giving a standard debrief, 'Right now you're looking at voluntary manslaughter charges but, given your past disregard for the lives of others, even a bleeding heart asari judge would see you locked up for life for this. Add to that all this talk of C-Sec corruption we've been hearing in the media lately and Pallin will probably feed you to the varren himself as an example. They'll do everything they can to you before hanging you out to dry.'

Still Garrus showed only a carefully blank mask, though his dark eyes began to soften. He felt the words cut deep, their edge biting into his resolve.

I didn't have a choice, he repeated to himself.

Chellick stopped his pacing and lowered his voice, though in the quiet cell it seemed every bit as loud as if he’d shouted, 'And to top it all off, you called an undercover operative away from a priority assignment. An operative under my command, no less.’

He emphasised the last point, using the words as a dagger to pry holes in Garrus’ defence.

‘You went over my head and may have compromised Detective Keller at the same time. I have more faith in her abilities than anybody else in my unit but this stunt will mean she can’t be re-inserted into her previous cover any time soon. Your decision may have cost us months, if not years of work.'

With long moments of silence his only response, Chellick sighed quietly in resignation. 'I understand your reasons, however. Thanks to your information, Arlen and Keller are proceeding to Citadel Tower as we speak to do a preliminary threat assessment and a Special Response team will be there soon to disable the bomb, or whatever it is Crixus planted. If you hadn't gotten the location from Naris, we'd still be fumbling in the dark.'

The concession was an unexpected one and Garrus relaxed slightly, his shoulders sloping as his rigid muscles yielded. He let out a weary breath and his voice was defiant, betraying nothing of the turmoil he felt, 'I never thought I'd hear that from you, Chellick.'

Chellick grunted. 'You don't know me, Garrus. You might think our extremely limited history is enough to guess at my thoughts and actions, but you’d be wrong every time. What did you expect from me? Volleys of preaching rhetoric? Did you expect me to gloat at the sight of you in cuffs like a common criminal?'

Garrus felt another twisting knot of dislike for his superior, yet what he said was true. This was not the same man who’d stood there, sanctimonious and infallible when he had the order to destroy Doctor Saleon's ship rescinded. Perhaps that was why Garrus listened now, twisting his head to hear what else Chellick had to say.

Striding ponderously around the table, Chellick again clasped his hands behind his back. 'It’s not your fault,’ he said, ‘You simply never grasped that you don't become an effective agent by betraying your true self to everyone around you. That was always your mistake, Garrus. You were always too rash, too hot-headed. It made you predictable.'

'Are you saying you knew I'd do this?' Garrus asked bitterly.

Chellick stopped and shook his head. 'No. I'm simply saying that it made you a poor agent. You always lacked the subtlety of the game, always charging headlong into a situation, acting on the first instinct that popped into your brain. It would be a commendable trait for someone in Special Response but here in C-Sec, all it's done is gotten you into trouble.'

He paused and leaned in close enough for Garrus to feel his breath above the collar of his armour. He brought his voice down to a seething whisper, 'It wasn't hard to turn Pallin against you when you went after Saleon. He knew as well as I did that you were obsessed, that you'd have sent the entire Citadel Fleet after him if you could. Still, I admired your conviction, if nothing else.'

'You didn't admire a damn thing, Chellick,' Garrus replied angrily, 'You gave me a worn-out lecture about protecting the lives of innocents, the same one I heard from Pallin when I confronted him after the whole thing went sour.'

Letting out a soft chuckle, Chellick resumed his pacing and Garrus lifted his head, surprised at the humoured reaction.

'You really think I cared about those people?' Chellick sneered, 'Grow up, Garrus. I only wanted Saleon's ship intact because killing him would have sent his buyers, many of whom were under investigation by my own department, scurrying away like rats from a sinking ship. I couldn't allow those leads to disappear but of course, taking the moral high ground was the easiest way of bringing Pallin on my side. It was nothing personal and the reputation I gained helped me secure this job.'

Garrus blinked, his eyes shifting as he tried to comprehend Chellick's logic. He felt the certainty of their rivalry, of everything he'd taken for granted, slip away. He had been so sure of Chellick's unshakable integrity and devotion to the rules that he’d never have conceived it could be otherwise.

Swallowing against a bitter welling of rage, at Chellick for his misdirection and himself for believing it, Garrus turned his head aside and growled, 'Why are you telling me all this?'

'Because I want you to understand that I'm not your enemy here.'

It was a simple statement but no matter how much he wanted to, Garrus could not find it in himself to dismiss it. He did not trust anything Chellick said but his mind was still reeling, still grasping at the threads of understanding. A perception was a difficult thing to break and yet Chellick had shattered it with only a few words.

Chellick spoke quickly, walking to Garrus’ front and bending to place both hands on the table. 'In just a few hours, the death of I'Layna Naris will be laid at your feet and it will make an enemy of just about everyone you know. Your fellow C-Sec officers will think you're a murderer and even your closest friends will abandon you altogether. At best you'll become a pariah within the force, someone people will avoid working with at all costs. At worst, you'll spend the rest of your life in the same kind of cell you've been working so hard to put people into.'

'Tell me something I don't already know.'

'I intend to,' Chellick answered back. He paused and waited for Garrus to look up at him before going on, 'I have no desire to see one of my best agents hung out to dry. Despite your temperament, you get the job done and your results are difficult to argue with. You're useful, Garrus, far more useful out there than in here and I’ll be damned if I'm going to lose a valuable asset over the death of a single asari.'

A spoke of intrigue shot through Garrus and he looked up, carefully watching Chellick's stony expression. There was no lie to be found in the hard gaze, though Garrus did not put much faith in that. The veil had fallen to reveal Chellick's true nature and Garrus felt overcome with an almost sickening mixture of hope and loathing, both for Chellick and for himself.

'What are you trying to say?'

Chellick smiled. 'I'm saying that security footage can go missing. Witnesses can become forgetful or even leave the Citadel altogether. Coroner reports can be falsified. In this case, it would be all too easy to make the charges levelled against you simply...disappear.'

'You want to cover this up?' Garrus said, aghast. He had thrown off his grim facade and now stared openly at Chellick, his mouth agape in horror. 'You really think you'd get away with something like that?'

Chellick laughed. 'I don't have to get away with anything! You're the one who stands to lose it all, Garrus. Of course, if you want nothing to do with it and would prefer to watch your life disappear then that's fine by me. I'm just offering you a second chance.'

'And what's in it for you? I find it hard to believe you'd go to all that trouble just to avoid losing an agent.'

Chellick's grin widened and he replied with the confidence of one who held all the cards, 'I have interests that go beyond my duties here at JSTF and I aim to make good on those interests. All you need to know is that I always play the angles, Garrus. I always have a backup plan and should the worst happen over the next few days, I don't intend on retiring back to my office in the Wards in disgrace, forever marked by my failure.'

The air around Garrus seemed to thicken with a fresh aura of distaste for the man. Everything he thought he’d known about Chellick had been stripped away and he felt as if he were looking at a stranger. Though the thought of going along with Chellick’s plan sickened him, Garrus still felt a keen tug of self-preservation.

He nodded his sullen consent. 'What do you have in mind?'

Chellick could barely conceal his pleasure. He spoke in a hushed voice, so that Garrus had to strain to hear him, 'I'm going to release you and you'll continue as if nothing happened. There will be rumours but you don't need to concern yourself with those, they'll die soon enough. People may ask questions and you'll tell them all that this was a misunderstanding, simple as that. I’ll take care of everything else and when the time comes, I'll be calling in this favour.'

He unlocked the cuffs and Garrus stood, rotating his stiff shoulders as he met Chellick’s eyes with cold determination. They simmered with anger at being forced into such a position and again, he considered refusing the proposal. This was not right and he deserved to face punishment for his actions.

The feeling did not last long, however. One thing was true, and that was he’d be no good to anyone whilst locked in a cell. Even if Chellick did have further plans for him, he may still be of some use in the fight against the Forgotten Legion.

A thought struck him and he looked up sharply. 'You said Arlen and Keller are on their way to Citadel Tower. Why them?'

'Arlen has some training in using his omni-tool to disable explosive devices,' Chellick replied, crossing his arms. 'He volunteered to make an initial assessment until Special Response arrives with a specialist. He'll have a direct line to Lina, who's studied just about every major IED to come out of the Terminus Systems. Between them, they'll get the job done.'

Garrus lowered his gaze to the table uneasily. Arlen was still young and raw, and needed a strong hand to guide him.

'Let me go there,' he said, 'Arlen can't do this alone.'

It was not a request and Chellick stiffened before giving a hard reply, 'The boy has been chosen to be an Interceptor. If he doesn't make it through this, he's hardly a fitting candidate. It'll be all right, Garrus, he's got a good team behind him and he's sharp enough for a kid. You, on the other hand, have bigger concerns.'

He smiled as he made his way out of the cell, leaving Garrus to glare at his back until the door snapped shut. In the abrupt stillness of the cell, Garrus closed his eyes. His muttered prayer for Arlen barely disturbed the silence.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

Arlen's pulse quickened as he drew near the C-Sec cordon. The shifting band of blue light stretched across the maintenance corridor, barring passage to all but the few cleared to cross. Around it swelled a knot of nervous officers, who looked up sharply at the newcomers before going back to chattering among themselves.

The air was painfully tense. Arlen had felt it long before he reached that point, when he passed the room in which he'd fought Crixus only hours before. The memory of it made the pounding of his heart almost too agonizing to bear. He approached the cordon and Keller brushed past him to speak with the senior officer on the scene.

Left alone for the moment, Arlen leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms in mute contemplation. He remembered his brief conversation with Garrus earlier, his partner oddly subdued as he relayed the bomb's location. Before Arlen could ask what was wrong, Garrus had cut the connection, leaving the young turian in confusion.

Now he found himself in Citadel Tower, with Crixus' bomb only a short distance away, hidden behind a screen of murmuring C-Sec officers.

Arlen swallowed dryly. He had volunteered readily for the task of assessing the device but only now did he feel the full weight of his decision. The lessons he’d taken in explosive identification and removal now seemed paltry and inadequate.

He took shallow breaths as he waited, struggling to mimic the hardened expressions Keller and Garrus had displayed as they'd focused on their tasks. The action went some way to soothing his racing heart but the burgeoning reality of his situation was almost overwhelming.

'Hey,' Keller said, startling him as she approached, 'They're ready for you. That is...if...'

She trailed off, her voice fading into the steady hum of conversation that swelled around them. Her clear blue eyes held his, filled with something that Arlen did not understand.

'What?' he asked quietly, puzzled by her hesitation.

She began again, taking a deep breath before speaking, 'You don't have to do this, you know.'

Tilting his head curiously, Arlen opened his mouth to reply but she continued quickly, cutting him off.

'Just...just listen to me for a second. Special Response are on their way. I know you've had a little training for this kind of thing but the risk is too high and moreover, completely unnecessary. Let's just leave this to the professionals.'

Arlen inhaled the musty, stale air deeply through his nostril slits.

'Thank you for your concern, Detective, but I know what I'm doing,’ he said formally, nodding down the corridor, ‘I'm going to observe and assess, that’s all, and if it's over my head then I'll happily step aside. I've got a good team backing me up in JSTF and as you said yourself, Special Response will be here soon to take over.'

'Come on, kid!' Keller hissed, trying to keep her voice beneath the notice of the other officers, 'Nobody's ordering you to do this and no one will blame you for backing down. I don't understand why you feel the need to put yourself in this position!' She paused for a moment and her tone grew pleading. ‘Why can't you just wait?'

Arlen sighed, not even sure where to begin explaining. He could have pointed out that for all they knew, the bomb could detonate in mere minutes and he was the only one qualified to even begin the lengthy hacking and defusing process.

But in his heart, he knew that was only an excuse. Distant images of an old, burgundy-skinned turian with striking white markings flashed through Arlen's mind and his throat tightened instinctively. Turians never break, he was told once, when he was very young. Everyone must do his duty and beyond, if the need arises.

Most of all though, he did not want to Keller of all people to know how truly terrified he was at that moment.

'I'm going,' he said resolutely, raising himself from the wall, 'I know what you're trying to say but I won't change my mind on this. If there's anything I can do to end this now then I'm going to do it.'

Keller's mouth firmed in frustration. 'Fine, just...be careful, all right?'

Nodding, Arlen began to push his way through the quickly diminishing crowd. Suddenly, he stopped and his voice carried above their heads.

'Hey.'

Keller blinked in surprise as he turned to her with a small grin.

'I'm sorry about earlier. You know, calling you a hooker and all.'

Clearly astounded at how the young man could remember such a small thing at a time like that, Keller laughed aloud, shaking her head.

'You apologise too much.'

'I can live with that,' Arlen replied with a meek nod.

Giving him a final worried smile, she turned and walked away, quickly disappearing from view. Only then did Arlen’s stomach rumble, driving bitter acid into his throat. He didn’t know whether it was because he was afraid or because he had not yet eaten that day. He suspected the former.

Any confidence he had shown evaporated when Keller was out of sight. He felt sick with fear, even more so than when he had faced Crixus. Without the sharp exhilaration of fighting for his life to distract him, he simply felt more out of his depth than ever before.

He strode down the empty corridor alone, until the last of the outlying C-Sec presence was nothing but a whisper at his back.

Without warning, his suit radio burst to life and Lina's voice cut through the thick silence, 'Arlen? Arlen, can you hear me?'

'I hear you,' he replied. To him the words sounded clipped and edged with fear. 'I'm approaching the site now.'

It was impossible to miss the large, flat sheet of metal that had been shorn from the wall ahead. An entire section had been removed to expose a twisting mess of cables, conduits and pipes, thick with layers of dust and grime.

The bomb was little more than a large silver case sitting neatly in the hole, nestled among the wires and dirt. Arlen could tell it was heavy and wondered at the strength it must have taken for Crixus to carry it all the way through the Citadel.

'Okay, run a primary scan on the outer casing,’ Lina ordered, ‘Don’t touch it until the scan is complete, we don't want to run into any nasty surprises.'

Arlen stretched out his right hand and his omni-tool chirped a response before emitting a thin web of honey-coloured light. It passed over the bulky case, wrapping around each angle and over every bump.

Feeling a wave of nervous exhaustion, Arlen took a deep breath. The yellow lines of the scanner trembled as his hand shook and he gripped it with his other in a moment of furious exasperation.

The moment was real, and at no other point in his life had he felt with such terrifying certainty that he would die. His mind shouted, willing his body to calm down but it was like a dumb beast, paying him no heed.

He was forced to speak.

'Lina?'

'Yeah? Is something wrong?'

'I…' he began, slowly closing his eyes. His lips worked soundlessly for a time before he finally found the simple words he needed, 'I'm scared.'

Time stood still as he waited. He didn’t even know if he deserved a response. He stood alone, the omni-tool working without a care for his feelings. He wished he could mimic the small machine and be able to carry out his task without fear or worry but such a thing was beyond him.

'I know,' Lina finally answered, 'We all are. I suppose I should say that it's okay, that you should stand down if you feel that you can't do this but...' The quarian lowered her voice and her intensity shook Arlen to his core, ‘You might be our only chance, Arlen. I'm not going to lie to you. If you walk away now then we might all end up dead.'

'I can barely move,' he whispered, his throat choking.

'Arlen, listen to me,' Lina said, 'I left the Migrant Fleet long ago on what we call our Pilgrimage. It is a rite of passage that every quarian must take before they can be called an adult in the eyes of our people. Back then I was young and afraid. I saw things that no one should ever have to see and yet I know that all paled in comparison to what you're going through now. All I can say is what I said to myself back then; look inside yourself. Somewhere within you there's a voice that is screaming for you to take control, to bend the situation to your will. You need to find that voice, Arlen, find it and listen to it.'

Lina's tone remained deep and seemed to reach into Arlen, steadying him. He could tell that she was speaking to him on a private channel, if only to spare him the shame of others seeing his weakness and that small mercy brought him some warmth.

His dark eyelids slid open once again and, after a few heaving breaths, his eyes sharpened. His chest still ached with the force of his pounding heart but the feeling was distant. His hands quivered but they were no longer clumsy and he reached over to his omni-tool to finalise the scan.

'All right,' he said, his voice now steady, 'Sending the data through now.'

After a series of chimes, Lina replied with a harsh gasp.

'Keelah…this is a class-seven nuclear explosive! It's designed to scuttle dreadnoughts and destroy cities! The Spectres used these during the Krogan Rebellions to destroy entire clans in one fell swoop. This thing is only supposed to be held by elite demolitions teams in the turian and salarian militaries!'

Arlen became very still, his response a cautious murmur, 'That makes sense, given the Legion's connections. There’s no telling what kind of hardware General Krassus is capable of getting his hands on.'

'Yes but…' Lina paused and her tone grew dark, 'That bosh'tet… He knew that he could wipe out the entire Citadel with this thing! Those…those monsters!'

'What about the device? Am I clear to open it?'

'Yes,' she replied, composing herself quickly, 'I'm not picking up any external circuiting or arming mechanisms. In fact, it's a little odd that they didn't see fit to protect it a little better.'

'I guess Crixus was supposed to be their defence,' Arlen muttered as he found the case's control panel. He thumbed a large button and the silver box hissed, the top swinging open to reveal a tangled forest of wires. Atop it all sat a lone, small terminal.

Kneeling, Arlen continued to run his omni-tool along every inch of the bomb, transmitting each scrap of information to Lina. 'I'm only seeing wires here. You sure this is a nuclear weapon?'

'Of course,' she answered immediately, 'Your omni-tool never lies. There should be a primary control terminal lying in plain sight, yes?'

'That's right.'

'Ignore it. It's a dummy console. The real terminal is hidden in a small compartment to the right, behind those wires. Most of them are fake too by the way, but don't go disconnecting anything just yet. There's bound to be a tamper switch connected to at least one of them.'

'Understood,' Arlen confirmed and gently prized apart the thick cables to reveal a metal box underneath.

Again he furrowed his brow. The box was not sealed in any way and while he was relieved he could reach it without tools he didn’t have, the sheer carelessness of leaving it exposed worried him. He opened his mouth to ask Lina if she were mistaken but thought better of questioning her.

'All right, I've uncovered the console. I'm activating it now.'

'Good, establish a connection with your omni-tool, I think I might stand a chance at deactivating it from here.'

Arlen complied eagerly. Lina would be able to disarm the bomb much faster than he could and he felt his nerves steady as the connection was made.

Instantly, the small terminal blinked to life, a tiny haptic display springing from a thin slot at the top. Arlen's mouth dried as a series of symbols he did not recognise appeared and immediately began to cycle. The characters were strange, their edges sharp and abrupt but it took only moments for Arlen to realise it was a countdown.

'Lina,' he said, his voice loud with renewed fear, 'Something's come up. It looks like some kind of timer but I don't recognise any of the numbers. Can you see anything from your end?'

A curse gushed from his radio, 'No, I just lost the connection. Stay with me, Arlen. We'll have to do this the hard way.'

The timer continued to run down and Arlen's eyes shifted quickly between it and his omni-tool. He tried desperately to keep listening to the inner voice Lina spoke of but with every passing moment the countdown flashed, growing smaller as the seconds ticked by. He didn’t even know how long he had - seconds, minutes or even hours - but the speed of their descent alone created a rapid welling of panic.

Arlen knew he did not have long.

'Okay,' Lina began shakily. Even she was beginning to feel the strain. 'There should be seven wires connected to the console. Three of them are decoys but the others will lead to the detonator. This will be a closed circuit so you'll need to hack in manually with your omni-tool when you find it.'

'How am I supposed to know which wires to follow?'

'Run a composition scan on the first four wires. I'll bet only the real ones are made of the right materials. You're looking at dedicated silver cabling with ten-percent copper, five-percent nickel mix for something of this size, while the fake ones will likely be far rougher. All you need to do is find one, then follow it through.'

Arlen worked quickly. The omni-tool was fast but it still took time to find the right program and he shifted impatiently on his haunches as the scan worked.

The console began to beep. The sound was harsh and loud, and it terrified Arlen with its constant, pressing rhythm.

'Come on!' he muttered to his omni-tool, 'Come on!'

The alarm grew louder, echoing down the corridor like the cry of a banshee.

Finally, the scan finished and Arlen thrust a hand into the wires, grasping the one he needed between trembling fingers and pursing his lips as he tried to follow it to its source. The wire almost slipped away and he clenched his teeth, knowing that to lose it was to waste vital seconds.

The beeping turned into a high-pitched roar and Arlen's mouth hung open in despair. He felt the wire move freely and he raised his hand, holding a severed cable between his fingers, the bronze threads splayed like tattered rope.

'It's not here,' he said quietly before raising his voice above the incessant alarm, 'Lina, it's not here! The cable was broken, it was-'

He did not hear her response. Instead his eyes, wide with terror, turned to the bomb's console display as the final symbol disappeared.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Arlen closed his eyes. He’d expected his end to be instant, if not painless, yet he was surprisingly calm and receptive of the moment. The world had frozen around him, a still-image captured by the shock of impending death.

Gradually, reality started to take hold. His head began to throb and a shrill, high-pitched screech filled his ears. Rivulets of salty moisture ran down his mandibles, coating his lips before dripping down to create dark, wet spots on the ground. The seconds passed in anticipation of agony, unwilling to release the breath trapped in his chest, lest the next scorch his lungs.

He numbly recalled a flash of light and a wave of fire as the countdown ended but beyond that, nothing. He’d shut his eyes tight against the flare and braced himself for the end, but felt only a momentary sting of heat. Nothing else came.

Finally, Arlen opened his eyes. The alarm still shrieked insistently from somewhere inside the bomb but the small haptic display had disappeared entirely. Now the thing laid dormant, content instead to deafen Arlen with its squealing.

Slowly, he allowed himself to breathe. The action was tentative at first as he expected a sudden burst of noise and flame, and when still nothing happened he could only stare in disbelief. Carefully, Arlen took hold of the severed wire he had uncovered and grabbed the console, pulling it free of the tangle.

He ground his teeth furiously as it came away without resistance, every cable that stemmed from it frayed and cut.

Releasing his breath, Arlen sank back into a sitting position, his armour scraping against the floor as he drew up a leg. His eyes rested despondently on the bomb case and the detonated husk of a flash grenade that been wired to it.

He felt drained of all feeling. It couldn't be a fake, not after everything that had happened, everything he had been through. The battle with Crixus, the rendezvous with Keller, even Morlan's interrogation - moments that had been the measure of his life to that point now seemed like some sort of cruel joke.

Suddenly, he reached out and with a growl of fury, threw the console against the wall, shattering it into thin sheets of grey metal. The alarm died instantly and it was only then Arlen realised his suit radio was chiming with an incoming transmission.

He reached up to paw at the receive button, unable to bring himself to care who it was. He felt stripped of emotion and wanted only to let the reality of the moment sink in. He wondered idly if Crixus had known about the ruse. Would the terrorist have fought with such fervour if he'd realised he was protecting nothing more than a simple box of scrap?

Arlen snorted. He couldn't care less about that, either. A cold indifference had settled on him and the panicked voice that ripped through the air concerned him little.

'Arlen?' Lina called out desperately, 'Arlen, are you all right? Can you hear me?'

'I'm here,' he muttered, 'and I'm still alive.'

'What about the bomb? Did you-'

'There was no bomb!' he interrupted angrily, 'The console was rigged to a flash grenade, that's all! It was all for nothing!'

'But the scans...' Lina began before answering her own thoughts, 'They must have replicated the components, down to the last detail. Either that or it really was a class-seven nuke which they disabled before bringing here. But why would they do something like that? Why go to all that trouble unless they wanted us to think it was real?'

'I don't know,' Arlen replied, shaking his head, 'It just doesn't make sense. Why did they send Crixus to die, just to protect a damn box?'

He paused as a thought struck him. Grunting, Arlen raised himself onto a knee and observed the bomb with fresh interest.

'Lina, do you remember the part Morlan handed over to Crixus in the markets?' he asked, ' You saw it on the security footage, right?'

The quarian quickly picked up on his train of thought. 'Yes, I remember a large circuit board but the vid was too distorted to make out any details. You're wondering why Crixus went to the trouble of picking it up in the first place?'

'Yeah,' Arlen replied thoughtfully, 'Morlan told us he had to source the part all the way from Omega. I haven't seen that board yet, so unless Crixus stashed it somewhere, it's got to be here.'

'Sound logic. Chellick already has Special Response scouring the area but we're confident Crixus hasn't been anywhere else.'

Arlen cocked his head and began to rummage through the mass of parts. 'What did it look like, exactly?' he asked, 'That board, I mean?'

'As best I could tell, it was grey and metallic, probably silver or a shade or two darker. Rectangular, about the size of your hand and a finger thick.'

Pieces of metal and loose cables were tossed aside as Arlen searched, while some hung over the edge of the box like black vines. With Lina's description, it did not take long to find what he was looking for.

He lifted the board up, its newly-manufactured surface gleaming as he twisted it in the dim light. There were no maker's stamps or serial numbers, just a smooth case with complex, inlaid circuitry running down its length.

It was surprisingly heavy and Arlen immediately saw why. Protruding from the back of the board, several conduits ran down into the depths of the false bomb case, their dull black curves pulsing gently with strips of red light. This was it, Arlen knew. Whatever it was, he held the true threat to the Citadel in his trembling grip.

He let out a hiss of breath. 'I think I've found it. This is what Crixus took from Morlan but I can't see what it's for. Can you help, Lina?'

'Sure,' the quarian replied.

Arlen scanned the board with his omni-tool and tensed at the speed and urgency with which Lina responded.

'Arlen, this isn't a bomb. What you're holding is a storage device, a hard drive. It's not huge but the encryption is impossibly complex, at least for your omni-tool. We need to get it back to C-Sec for study, at least while-'

She paused so suddenly that Arlen could not help but ask, 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'It…it's transmitting,' she said, 'It's uploading something! Arlen, check outside the bomb! Pull it away from the wall!'

Arlen scrambled to his feet and with a grunt, dragged the box out of the hole in the wall. It was heavy - heavier than it should have been and he was gasping with effort as the bomb finally tipped over, spilling junk across the floor.

Peering behind it, he saw the same conduits running out of the hard drive were protruding from the bottom of the bomb case. They had been crudely joined to a number of the heavy cables lining the corridor's inner wall.

Arlen stepped back in surprise. 'That's why he cut a hole in the wall,' he murmured in realisation, 'Crixus has connected this thing directly to Citadel Tower! He's using this storage device to transfer something directly into the Citadel's internal systems!'

'Keelah...' Lina gasped, unable to hide her own terrified shock.

'Can you trace this...whatever it is? This signal?' Arlen asked, 'Can you find out what they're uploading; or where they're uploading to?'

He shuffled away from the bomb as he spoke, though Arlen knew he could not think of it as such any more. This was something different, something none of them could have anticipated.

Panic rippled through him as Lina spoke again, 'Arlen, you need to get moving, right now! I'll access the local systems from here but you need to get to Citadel Control. I'll explain on the way!'

'Why?' Arlen asked as he lurched into a run, 'What did you find? What does Citadel Control have to do with anything?'

'I don't have time to explain, just get going! _Now!_ ' Lina cried.

Arlen broke into a sprint, Lina's voice propelling him down the corridor and past the oblivious C-Sec officers still guarding the area.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

'Jamestown, this is Citadel Control, you are clear to proceed, over.' 

Captain Stanford grinned and leaned forward in his chair. ‘That was quick,’ he murmured to himself, ‘Must be my lucky day.’

'Sorry I'm late,' MacFarlane said hurriedly as she entered the bridge, her chest heaving, 'I didn't expect we'd get waved through so soon.'

'You read my mind. I'd like to think they recognise us by now but that's just fanciful thinking, I'm sure.' Stanford sighed wistfully and cocked his head in MacFarlane’s direction. 'Have the diagnostics finished?'

'Just checking now.'

MacFarlane’s terminal bloomed into view, the orange display giving her fiery hair an even warmer glow. The sight gave Stanford pause.

 _If only I were twenty years younger,_ he thought with a chuckle, _All right, maybe thirty._  

With a deep breath, the old captain looked back to their destination. The Citadel was barely visible through the nebula and yet he knew it would not take them long to get there.

As captivating as the station was at a distance, he always looked toward to the moment they passed the edges of the ward arms. It always felt like the Citadel was embracing them like a loving parent, welcoming them into its presence.

Stanford eased his hand against the throttle and his stomach lurched slightly as the Jamestown began to crawl forward.

'What the-' MacFarlane exclaimed at his back, 'What is this?'

'What's wrong?' asked Stanford, turning to face her, 'Does it explain why we caught so much drift?'

MacFarlane did not reply. As he looked back at her, Stanford could see she had paled and he frowned at her appalled expression. He rose to his feet, eager to see what had frightened his friend in such a manner.

'Come on,' he said, smiling weakly as he approached, 'Don't keep me in suspense here, what does it say?'

His smile eased subtly at first, but as his sharp eyes scanned the diagnostic report, it disappeared entirely.

The letters on the projected screen were bright against the darker background of the cockpit, though the words were not the predictable, clinical language of an automated report.

Stanford murmured them aloud, his blood running cold in his veins as his voice echoed against the bulkheads, 'The time for us to take our vengeance has come. You will be the vanguard of blood, the sacrifice of those whose debts have yet to be paid. Through your deaths, may the galaxy be born anew.'

The soft drone of the ship's engines intruded once more and after a brief, stunned silence, MacFarlane's eyes fell on Stanford fearfully.

He dared not meet them. The cryptic message lingered on the display like a silent, menacing watcher and it took a force of will for Stanford to reach out and turn it off. Even as the light flickered away, the words remained as a chilling presence.

MacFarlane visibly shuddered with terror, 'What are we going to do, Richard? That came from our own nav unit! Those things are supposed to be hacker-proof, there's no way we can ignore this! We need to alert Citadel Control right now!’

'This can't be right,' Stanford murmured in disbelief, 'It has to be a…a prank of some kind, a trick. Maybe it's just a coincidence?'

'Coincidence or not, this isn't normal. It was bad enough when we thought we were drifting off-course but now our own damn navicomp's threatening us! Please, Richard, we have to call for help.'

Slowly, Stanford nodded and threw himself into his seat before reaching out to the flight controls. He pulled back the throttle and instantly his brow furrowed. Where there should have been a gentle vertigo as the enormous craft drew to a halt, there was nothing.

He glanced at the readouts on his terminal and his eyes widened in alarm as he saw the ship's speed remain constant.

'The hell?' he muttered as he stabbed at various buttons, their empty clicks filling the air. Still nothing.

His mouth became dry and his lips quivered, unable to find the words for his confusion.

'What's wrong?' MacFarlane asked.

'It's…it's not stopping!'

'What do you mean?' she pressed. Her voice grew loud with fear and she leaned forward to ask again, 'What do you mean it's not stopping?'

Stanford said nothing, instead launching into the procedures that had been drilled into him since the academy. He straightened in his seat, regaining some of his former confidence in the routine.

'Carry out a hard reboot,' he ordered, 'I'm going to contact Control. If our navigation system has been hacked then our only chance may lie with them. In the meantime, I need you to get an update out to the crew. Tell them to keep the passengers in their seats until we get to the bottom of this.'

He looked over at MacFarlane and his expression softened at the terrified light in her eyes. His co-pilot was one of the most competent he had ever worked with but she had not been through these moments of panic, these long minutes of desperation that all pilots had to prepare themselves to face.

The corners of Stanford's mouth curled into a gentle smile and, for the time being at least, it was enough to calm her. MacFarlane dipped her head and became lost in the tapping of keystrokes, her hands and mind working furiously.

Satisfied, Stanford thumbed the comm relay while doing his utmost to keep his eyes from the rapidly approaching Citadel. After only a few moments, a connection had been established and the thin, airy tone of a salarian poured into the bridge.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

'Jamestown, this is Citadel Control,' Loek sighed into his headset, his words coloured with palpable boredom, 'Please stand by while we authenticate your transponder code.'

The salarian stretched and let his long, smooth head hang back over the lip of his chair. After nine hours spent in one of the many traffic control offices of Citadel Tower, he had reached the very limit of his motivation and once again he considered simply getting up and leaving, never to return.

Loek glanced at the clock in the corner of his terminal display. Still over an hour to go. He groaned inwardly as he forced himself upright and prepared to deliver the mandatory disclaimer in his most unenthusiastic drone.

'Please be aware you are contacting an emergency channel,' he said monotonously, 'Improper use of this frequency can result in fines of up to three thousand credits and restric-'

'Control, my name is Captain Richard Stanford, I can confirm this is an emergency,' interrupted a voice which Loek instantly recognised as human, 'Our navigation systems have been compromised and the lives of both my passengers and crew are in immediate danger.'

'All right, all right,' Loek mumbled, rolling his eyes, 'Please stay calm and tell me what's wrong. It's most likely a configuration error or a calibration issue.'

'It's nothing of the sort!' the Jamestown's pilot argued back forcefully, 'We discovered an anomaly within our navigation systems after coming through the relay and ran a full check to identify the problem. When the scan was completed, something was displayed, some kind of message. I don't know how it got there but I know our navigation computer has been hacked.'

'That's not possible,' Loek replied immediately, 'A ship's navicomp is an enclosed system, it's isolated from the rest of your ship's network. The only way you can access it is from the bridge command console.'

A frustrated breath hissed noisily through the console receiver. 'I know all about my own ship's navigation unit, I've been a pilot for over thirty years, damn it! In all that time I've never seen anything like this. Just please, listen to what I'm telling you. I'm not going to risk the lives of my people over your bureaucratic nonsense!'

Shaking his head, Loek slumped and cast an exasperated gaze at the ceiling. This old human would be far more trouble than he was worth, and Loek wasn't paid nearly enough to sit around arguing with stubborn aliens.

'Okay,' he sighed, dimly aware it was the second time he had done so, 'I'm sending you the coordinates of a designated Citadel Control inspection area, about three-hundred _K_ from your current position. Please proceed to this area and warn your passengers of the delay.'

'That's not possible, Control…' The captain trailed off, though Loek could hear him speaking faintly, most likely to his co-pilot, 'What do you mean it's not working? Restart it again, Sarah, I don't...' 

Loek leaned forward, his brow pursed as his curiosity piqued. No captain would be so clueless to the point of being unable to control their own ship, and certainly not one who had been flying for thirty years as this one claimed.

'Is there a problem?' Loek ventured, 'Jamestown, do you copy?'

When Stanford came back, his voice was like fire, 'Citadel Control, our flight controls are unresponsive, repeat, our flight controls are unresponsive! Our manual systems are also down, we've tried a hard reset of all our instruments but nothing's working here! Emergency systems, even the damn escape pods are down!'

The office had grown silent in reaction to the raised voices and Loek's colleagues turned to him with questioning looks.

Loek scratched his head furiously, unsure of what he should do. He hadn't seen anything like this before and the pressure was starting to make his head swim.

Coming to a decision, he entered several commands into his terminal, prompting a large LADAR readout to wash over his dark, flitting eyes. He quickly identified the Jamestown amongst the sea of flickering transponder signals, the shape of the enormous ship creeping resolutely toward the Citadel.

'A-all right,' Loek stammered, 'Are your terminals functioning? What are you seeing, exactly?'

'Everything appears normal,' Stanford growled, 'but the haptics aren't recognising our inputs. Throttle isn't responding, everything is dead. Oh God…we're picking up speed.'

Loek's eyes scanned the LADAR display and his stomach tightened as he saw for himself. The bright outline of the Jamestown was indeed moving towards the outstretched arms of the Citadel, and getting faster with every second.

The salarian moistened his lips and waved his fingers across the screen, panning and zooming the display while his other hand wrestled with a sequence of tool buttons at his side.

More co-workers gathered around him, some murmuring quietly while others stared in blank shock. A thick line, broken into gently flowing curves that arched out from the point of origin, drew a path from the nose of the Jamestown, every detail clear and precise. The line swept forward until it reached a destination they all knew well.

A collective gasp rose from the small crowd as the course projection rested squarely on the tip of Citadel Tower. The Jamestown was locked on a collision course with the Council chambers.

Loek wiped his brow and trembled as the reality of his situation sank. Moving more quickly than he could remember, he leapt from his seat in search of a supervisor.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

Chellick's throat clenched tightly as he swallowed, allowing him no chance to breathe. He barely even noticed his discomfort.

From the moment Lina had warned of an intrusion into Citadel Control's traffic systems, he’d left his physical self behind, his mind carried solely on concentration and focus. Now, with a human passenger ship set to crash into the Council chambers as they swelled with the most important people in the galaxy, his thoughts moved from one option to the next in search of an answer.

For a moment he cursed the politicians, from the Councillors to Executor Pallin. They’d insisted on holding their precious summit despite all the dangers, all the warnings.

Though he didn't want to think about it, Chellick knew what would happen if they could not bring the Jamestown under control. It was too late to evacuate Citadel Tower. By the time the order was approved, the ship would have already smashed into its target and all would be lost.

The JSTF command centre was like a living being, pulsing and throbbing with noise and activity. Personnel rushed back and forth, their voices growing loud before quieting once again, like the flows and ebbs of a tide. Underneath it all, each of Chellick's people knew the stakes and every action was carried out with fresh urgency.

Chellick wandered around the central dais, his eyes drifting between the various terminals lining the outer edge. Most were filled with reports of events that had already occurred, the information now useless, though his attention fastened on a live feed between the engineers attending the Jamestown and their counterparts in Citadel Control.

Several search and rescue ships had darted out to intercept the wayward vessel, each one filled with experienced techs who were now trying to override whatever had taken a grip on the Jamestown's systems. So far they’d had no luck. All entrances and ports had been locked down and they didn’t have time to cut through the hull.

The Forgotten Legion had predicted exactly how they would react to the bomb threat and left them without even a second to spare. Chellick frowned at the thought of what he would have to do to avert disaster.

 _No,_ he told himself, _This is already a disaster. All we can do now is stop it getting any bigger._

His authority superseded that of Citadel Control in a situation like this and his mind was already broaching the subject of what would have to be done if they could not stop that ship. It did not make the decision any more palatable.

'Chellick,' Lina announced at his back, forcing him to tear his gaze from the monitor.

He looked at her intently, knowing she would not bother him unless it was important.

'Arlen is on his way to Citadel Control but I doubt...' The quarian brought a palm to her helmet as the truth made her head feel light. 'I doubt he'll be able to do any good now. It's too late.'

Chellick breathed deeply. 'How long do we have?'

Lina's head drooped with the weight of hopelessness. 'Based on current estimates, less than ten minutes. Control is feeding through the Jamestown's co-ordinates by the second but for every one of those seconds, the ship gets a few hundred feet closer to the Council. We have covert access to Control's sensors, so the picture is accurate.'

 _As well as access to their communications_ , Chellick thought wryly. 'What do you think?'

Lina sighed dejectedly. 'The Jamestown reported systems loss at the exact moment the hard drive Arlen found began transmitting data into Citadel Control’s networks. From what I've gathered, it released a virus into Citadel Tower, one that even the station's own safeguards will have trouble getting rid of. I'll need some time to analyse it further but from what I can see, the nature of the virus is extremely complex. I have my suspicions as to what that nature might be, but until I can get hold of the storage device used to deliver it, all I can do is guess.'

'I see,' Chellick replied, turning his head.

The Citadel's own firewalls were ancient and labyrinthine, well-structured to withstand any intrusion from the outside. Bolstered by programs developed by the asari and salarians, its defences were considered impregnable to all conceivable viruses.

Against an internal attack, however, they could only rely on the Citadel's native countermeasures. Though they were robust, rivalling anything the Council races could hope to match, the Legion had sown enough confusion with their feigned bomb threat to ensure no one could react in time. Though it pained Chellick to admit it, this direct assault on the station's systems had been flawlessly orchestrated, the execution almost perfect.

He looked up, his eyes falling on the large screen that dominated the far end of the command centre. A grid of video feeds showed how little progress Control was making. The Jamestown, now little more than a bulky, million-tonne battering ram, showed no sign of slowing as it pushed doggedly through the nebula.

Chellick's mandibles twitched. He had little choice but to give the order.

'Tell me, Lina,' he murmured, catching her by surprise as he began to move away from the displays, 'how important are the lives of the Council?'

Lina stared at him as she followed. 'They are the ones we are sworn to protect. If they die, the Joint Security Task Force dies with them.'

Chellick nodded, satisfied with the answer. With just a few quick steps he bounded down the dais stairs and arrived at Lorica's desk.

The asari's eyes flickered to him as he approached and she stood to greet him, ignoring Lina entirely.

'The captain of the cruiser _Retribution_ is standing by,' she said, her bright eyes shining with trepidation. Despite her best efforts to mask it, Lorica’s distress over their course of action was achingly clear beneath the surface. 'He reports…weapons are online and ready to fire.'

'Ready to fire?' Lina gasped, 'You don't mean…?'

Lorica glared at her, as if her words were an unwanted interruption but Chellick answered quickly, his tone even and clinical as he clasped his hands behind his back, 'We have barely five minutes until the Jamestown hits the tower. If it does then many people will die, people we can't afford to lose. I don't like the idea any more than you do, Lina, but we don't have a choice. The Council must be protected, no matter the cost.'

'No matter the cost?' Milo shouted as he bounded over to them, his voice aflame with indignation. The Jamestown was, after all, a human ship. They were his people. 'There are over a thousand civilians on that ship, Chellick! You can't just throw their lives away!'

The small group fell silent for a moment as Chellick bristled. He stared at Milo for some time before giving a reply that brimmed with determination.

'You think this is a decision I've made on a whim, Milo? That I'm simply reacting without thinking of the consequences? Well, you're wrong. This decision was made long ago. It was made when the Joint Security Task Force was formed, before the Jamestown even entered this system. It's a decision I've had to prepare myself for since taking up the mantle of JSTF commander, and thereby taking responsibility for the lives of the Council. The consequences of such a choice have always been known to me, no matter who would fall under the knife.'

'That's no excuse,' Milo argued, 'There has to be another way! You’re not even looking for-'

'There _is_ no other way!' Chellick snapped back, 'Citadel Control can't stop it, the pilot can't stop it and there's no way we can physically alter the course of a ship that size, not while it's travelling so fast! The Jamestown is going to crash, Milo. Those people are already dead. All we can do is ensure they don't take anyone with them.'

His eyes burning with overpowering grief, Milo bared his teeth. 'This is insane! We're supposed to be saving people, not killing them!'

Lina stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact seemed to break the bitter edge of his rage and his expression softened slightly as he turned his gaze to hers.

'We're not the ones who did this, Milo,' she said gently, 'The Forgotten Legion are the murderers here, not us. They came to this station, intent on doing harm to humanity, whether through disrupting the summit or…this.'

Her voice seemed to reach Milo and he sagged, his head hanging with sadness and shame as his strength left him.

Lina's pale milky eyes continued to search his from beneath her visor as she spoke, 'The Legion will answer for this crime but we need you to remain calm and focused if we are ever to stand a chance of bringing them to justice, do you understand?'

Milo nodded weakly. Though he did not weep, the edges of his eyes were red and he took a deep, ragged breath.

Chellick watched the exchange with detached interest. He was grateful to Lina for calming the human down and he made a mental note to assign more staff to her when the crisis was over. For now though, they had wasted enough time.

'Lorica, patch me through to the Retribution,' he ordered.

The asari was not listening, however. Instead she was glaring malevolently at Lina, fixated on the hand that still gripped Milo's shoulder.

'Lorica!' Chellick barked, startling her back into reality.

'I'm…I'm sorry,' she stuttered, her cheeks flushing as she fumbled with her terminal. 'Retribution, please stand by…'

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

The city-arms of the wards stretched out before Arlen, each one scored with glittering lines of traffic, like bright scratches across black stone. Despite the gravity of his situation, he still found the sight truly arresting.

The thick glass of the elevator shaft gave him a perfect view of the Citadel from its very centre and yet he forced himself to focus his gaze on a distant mass of shapes, mere shadows against the nebula.

Lina had told him the Jamestown was surrounded by search and rescue ships but a chill travelled through Arlen’s body as he noted the distinctive outlines of turian frigates and cruisers moving into position, forming a protective wall in front of the tower. His mouth opened as he realised what was happening.

'Lina!' he cried out, forcefully stabbing at his suit radio before pressing a hand to his ear, 'Lina, what's going on?'

It took several moments for the quarian to reply and when she did, the resignation in her voice plunged Arlen into despair, 'Chellick has ordered the Jamestown destroyed. We can't stop it. There's…there's nothing we can do for those people now.'

Arlen could only stare, mortified, his reflection gaping faintly back at him in the glass. He could see now how quickly the ships were moving, that it would only be minutes before impact but he argued nevertheless, his words tinged with desperation, 'What about Citadel Control? Can't somebody do something?'

All of his efforts were vanishing, every ounce of strength he had expended trying to combat the terrorist threat wasted as surely as if Crixus had managed to pull that trigger earlier. Arlen looked out on the wards, at the millions of people continuing their lives, ignorant of what was happening only miles above them.

'Lina!' he screamed as the faint glow of mass accelerator weapons distorted the distant outlines, the main guns of a dozen warships priming.

The blue haze intensified, competing with the glow of the station and the stars beyond. Arlen pounded a fist against the glass and his hand sank against the cold surface, his fingers spreading out as defeat gripped him.

His palm slid down as he sank to his knees, and he grimaced in frustration and grief as the shots came.

Ship-destroying slugs, invisible to the naked eye, ripped through the Jamestown and the explosion burned with the intensity of a sun. The burst of yellow flame flared brightly for a moment before quickly disappearing, leaving only space, dust and silence.

Arlen screwed his eyes shut, squeezing them together as tightly as he could. They had lost. Over a thousand humans now lay dead at the hands of turian warships, the implications of which were enough to strike fear into any heart. Arlen paid them no mind. Instead, his ears filled with a thousand lingering, terrified screams.


	10. Chapter 10

Executor Pallin's fingers drummed against his desk, filling his office with a jerky, anxious rhythm. His terminal, as always, lay open and switched on but this time his gaze fell past the screen to rest on his office door.

The four members of JSTF who had been at the forefront of the crisis now stood outside, waiting to be summoned. They had each done all they could but despite their efforts, the whole affair had been an unmitigated disaster. C-Sec had protected the Council but at a cost so terrible that everyone, from citizens to journalists, all the way up to the highest political levels, would scrutinise them all mercilessly.

That was why Pallin kept his people waiting. Until he could slip into a more collected frame of mind, he did not trust himself to look on them without throwing angry, even unfair accusations in their direction.

With a deep, exhausted breath, the executor perused the reports that had steadily accumulated in the hours after the Jamestown's destruction. Most of them concerned each and every action JSTF had taken and he scoured the documents carefully, keen to pick out anything that could place blame on them. He had already prepared a cover story for the media, one that could be easily unravelled if he missed just one piece of vital data.

He turned to the personnel reports and after only a few moments of reading, he let out an impatient huff.

Vakarian had acted in his usual, reckless manner. The death of the asari councillor's aide was suspicious at best, yet the subsequent investigation by Chellick had turned up nothing to suggest foul play. In that, Pallin took a measure of confidence. Chellick had no love for Garrus, so if he did not find anything amiss then there was nothing to be found.

Pausing, Pallin reached into his desk to take out a small, hard biscuit before snapping an end off between his lips. The rich flavour filled his mouth and he found his mood lifted as he continued to scroll through the report.

The quarian analyst Lina'Gerrel had proven her worth yet again, he noted. Reams of scripted radio chatter passed under Pallin's eyes and he nodded in subtle approval as he looked over not only her conversation with the panicking I'Layna Naris but the way she reacted to the changing situation without hesitation or deference. She'd even assisted Arlen at the vital moment of the bomb's discovery. Without her, the young man would have been lost.

Pallin frowned as he considered the last person on the list.

Arlen was still young, in more ways than one but his instincts were sound and little else was as important as that. Already he seemed a far cry from the raw scrap of a recruit who had stood in Pallin’s office only that morning. With the help of Detective Keller - dereliction of undercover duty notwithstanding - he had achieved much despite the odds. Pallin took hold of the brief burst of optimism and used it to banish all his worries, at least for the time being.

The office door opened with a hiss and the small group filed in, their expressions carefully guarded. It was clear they’d spent the time outside discussing what had transpired, and what the consequences would mean for each one of them.

Garrus took a position to Pallin's left, his view fixed beyond the balcony at the back of the room. The others fell in beside him in a line, with Lina shyly dipping her head as she stood at the end. No one dared speak and Pallin cleared his throat, knowing he would have to be the one to break the tense silence.

'At sixteen-hundred hours the SV Jamestown, a human passenger ship chartered from Earth, was completely destroyed by the Citadel Fleet. There were no survivors.'

He paused to see how his words were received. He only said what they all knew but to hear the facts spoken aloud brought a solemn regret to them all regardless.

'As you know, this is going to create a political nightmare. The vessels that fired those shots were turian and the order to destroy the ship came from turian lips. Due to operational security concerns, we haven't been able to release every detail of the terrorist attack to the media, meaning that without those facts, it will simply look like a case of turians firing on human civilians without provocation.'

Pallin stopped, allowing them a moment to absorb the implications.

'First of all, let me say that I've brought you four here because you have singled yourselves out by responding to this threat with all the speed, intelligence and courage I've come to expect from officers of C-Sec. If it wasn't for each one of you the Council would be dead and even though it doesn’t feel like it now, we’d be in a much worse place. The destruction of the Jamestown was an atrocity, one that should never have happened but it did. There's nothing we can do to change that now. What is important is that we bring the Forgotten Legion to justice before they can carry out any further attacks. Detective, I gather you managed to track down a lead in the wards?'

He turned to Keller and the young woman nodded. 'Yes Sir. Arlen and I questioned the salarian merchant Morlan. Through him, we learned the key component used in the attack - that is, the real attack - was sourced from a company operating out of Omega.'

She hesitated as Pallin seemed to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the mention of the place, but went on quickly, 'The company, Bithcon Dynamics, are a private firm that make their way supplying computer hardware to every two-bit organisation in the Terminus Systems. Mercenaries, pirates, slavers, they're all on their consumer list. Still, considering their shady clientele, they've stayed well away from getting involved with groups operating in Citadel space. Until now, that is.'

'So what exactly did this Bithcon Dynamics supply to the Legion?' asked Pallin.

Lina took a step forward. 'Well, Sir, I haven’t had the time to form a conclusive opinion but I think I’ve managed to identify the device Arlen recovered.'

'Already?' Pallin murmured.

He sounded impressed but Lina's mind was too abuzz with information to notice. The words spilled from her suit amplifiers and her body shifted excitedly in her enthusiasm, 'Yes, I had it sent straight to my desk once Arlen had left the area. It’s an advanced data storage unit, not of an exceedingly large capacity but capable of arranging complex information in certain patterns.'

'What kind of patterns?'

'Well,' Lina began, taking a few moments to find the right words, 'Thought patterns, to be precise, Sir.'

The group frowned as one, each struggling to see the significance of the revelation.

Lina hesitated at their confusion and inclined her body towards them while raising her hands, as if the motions would hasten their understanding.

'It's difficult to explain. I believe the device contained a virus, though from the little I can gather it didn’t 'behave' like an ordinary worm or trojan. The Citadel’s systems are incredibly sophisticated and its security protocols are thorough. Any normal virus would have been destroyed within minutes but this one adapted; it learned to bypass those obstacles to reach its target.'

Garrus shuffled closer, his mandibles twitching with interest. 'Are you saying this virus was displaying intelligence?'

'No, not intelligence, exactly,' Lina replied, placing a hand on her forehead as she tried to summon the right words. 'If anything, I would call it instinct.'

'Is that even possible?' asked Garrus as he leaned forward slightly, taking his body out of line with the others. It was a small thing but Pallin cleared his throat softly, reminding him of his position. Garrus reacted, reluctantly easing back and straightening.

'It's still too early to say for sure what all this means,' Lina stressed, 'but what I can say is that we're dealing with a weapon the Legion wouldn’t have been able to develop themselves. Turians are fine soldiers but they always outsource their advanced tech requirements, especially when it comes to information warfare. To create something of this sophistication would require a huge amount of money, advanced R and D labs, as well as seasoned programming experts. Those aren't the kinds of things terrorist organisations keep lying around.'

Pallin stirred, his expression troubled. 'There could be more than one faction at play here, if that's the case. What else did you find?'

'Not much else. The virus was purged only moments after the Jamestown was destroyed. We have samples of the code in quarantine but it'll be some time before we'll have a complete picture. All we know for sure is that it entered the Jamestown through Control's tight-beam communications. From the instant the ship came through the relay it became infected via a back door placed in one of the bridge systems.'

'The target wasn't one of opportunity,' Garrus murmured thoughtfully, 'They knew that ship was coming in and they timed the attack to coincide with its arrival. A ship's bridge network is a sealed system. It's all physically sealed, there's no way the virus could've been transferred to it remotely, not under normal circumstances. Only someone with direct access to the bridge could have tampered with the network, leaving it open to attack.'

The executor nodded his agreement and turned his gaze to Arlen, aware he had not yet spoken. 'Do you have anything to add? You were there since the very beginning, after all.'

Arlen's eyes sharpened as if just waking up from a deep slumber. While not unaware, the recruit's mind was clearly elsewhere and it took a couple of seconds for him to force an answer.

'No, Sir.'

Folding his hands neatly, Pallin propped his elbows on the desk. 'Either way, there're a lot of questions and it's our job now to find the answers. As of right now, all four of you are reassigned to the Joint Security Task Force until further notice, reporting directly to Chellick in the command centre. Garrus, your district captain has already been informed. Keller, we’ll discuss your loose interpretation of the word ‘undercover’ at a later date. Until then, you might have a chance to redeem yourself.'

Pallin noticed Garrus flinch but did not think to question it. Instead he straightened in his chair and lowered his voice into a serious growl, 'The political ramifications of this attack are going to be dire, there's no doubt about that. Still, I want you all to put these concerns as far out of your minds as you can and stay focused. The Legion have shown themselves to be a serious threat to the security of the galaxy and we need to act quickly if we're to stand any chance of bringing them down.' He stared at the small group and his confidence rose as he saw the determination in their eyes. 'You are all dismissed. Return to JSTF and await further orders. Detective Keller, you'll be formally transferred to Commander Chellick's staff within the next twenty-four hours. Your captain might request your attention but feel free to point him in my direction if he gives you any trouble.'

Keller smiled and nodded politely. As the team began to drift from the office, Pallin called out Arlen’s name, startling him, 'Not you. I want a word with you before you head down.'

Blinking, Arlen shuffled back in front of the desk and drew his hands into the small of his back, standing at ease with flawless precision. As soon as the door snapped shut the office seemed empty and all too quiet, as if the world had drawn still to listen in on them.

Pallin too sensed the sudden calm and he took his time before speaking again, measuring each word with deliberate care before it left his lips.

'After your performance today, I've decided to give you your first true assignment. As of now, you are a Citadel Security Interceptor.'

No answer came. In fact, it was as if Arlen hadn’t heard him at all. The young man simply stared past him and with a small growl of irritation, Pallin gestured sharply at the door.

‘Dismissed,’ he said, his eyes following Arlen until the door closed behind him.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

General Krassus took Varn's hand in a fierce grip. He could feel his second in command's strength and pride in the gesture, and despite the tribune's unchanging expression Krassus knew he too was overwhelmed with joy at the mission's success. 

'The first step has been taken,' Krassus beamed, his weathered features alive with excitement, 'The Jamestown was an unfortunate target but valuable nonetheless. Now the politicians are at each other's throats, it's only a matter of time before the filthy aliens slip up and our people finally give humanity what it deserves. I can name at least a dozen senior officers who'd leap at a chance to batter them into submission. We did it, Avitus.'

Varn's black markings rippled as he responded, 'Second Century are on night ex for the next ten days. The jungle should harden them well for the coming months. When the next phase of our plan comes, we'll be as ready as we can be.'

Krassus clasped his other hand on Varn's shoulder briefly before letting it fall. 'Nothing can stop us now,' he said, pride flavouring his every word, 'This was what we built the Legion for. We have three centuries of seasoned men - over two hundred in all - and once news of this victory reaches their ears, every one of them will be hungry for more.'

A shadow passed over the general's thoughts, lessening his joy and he lowered his voice as he released Varn's hand.

'We couldn't have done this without him, Avitus. He was a good man.'

'I know, Sir,' Varn replied plainly, 'Any one of us would have made the same decision. My brother may have given his life, but it was a good death.'

Nodding slowly, Krassus turned to the window behind him. He had not left his quarters all day and the rich scenery beyond had imprinted itself indelibly in his memory until he knew every distant jungle-tipped peak.

The sun was now barely a sliver on the horizon, edging the mountains with a single, golden line and plunging the valleys below into deep shadow. The falling darkness was a blessing after the unbearably hot day, and as the weight of the mission's success began to leave Krassus' shoulders he relished the idea of snatching a few hours of precious sleep.

He cleared his throat and paced back and forth across the window, his eyes remaining on the jungle as he spoke, 'We'll debrief the men after first light, once the threat of an immediate retaliatory strike has passed. Until then I want all duty personnel alert and ready.'

Varn did not acknowledge the order and Krassus was forced to look back at him. He was surprised by the rare hesitation he saw in Varn's eyes.

'What's wrong, old friend? Was there something else?'

'Yes, Sir,' Varn replied uneasily, 'It's…him. Comms are ready with the transmission, when you're ready.'

Krassus' light mood soured instantly. He'd hoped the call would have come once the rest of the Legion had been informed and it galled him that an outsider would be given priority over his own men.

 _Still,_ he thought with a bitter sigh, _I will keep my word._

'Thank you, Avitus,' he said, more wearily than he had intended, and crossed the room to his terminal. The small display was still open from when he'd spoken with Crixus earlier and he eyed the small, flashing icon in the corner with disdain.

'Would you prefer to speak in private, Sir?' Crixus asked respectfully.

Krassus considered sending Varn away but shook his head quickly. 'Whatever's to be said, it can be said in front of my second-in-command.'

Varn nodded and stood rigidly to one side. He would not hide his presence but neither was he one to draw attention to himself. Krassus watched as with a flicker of movement, Varn swept a hand up to the light brown scales of his neck and clasped a small insect between his fingers. Frowning irritably, he crushed it before dusting off the debris.

As Krassus turned back to his desk, a thin red line drew across the terminal display like a surgical incision, spreading to cross the width of the screen before creasing into a series of peaks and troughs which danced erratically.

A voice boomed from the terminal speakers, achingly deep and yet oddly light, a shifting and warping mass of sound that sent the red line into a frenzy of movement.

'General,' it greeted, the cold sound sending a chill through Krassus' spine. 'It appears congratulations are in order.'

There was no accent or brogue to identify, nor anything that indicated a particular gender or species. It was as if speaking to a machine and its words were filled with a subtle malice Krassus had hated ever since their first dealings.

'You're well informed, Yanus,' Krassus replied, the breath catching in the old general's lungs as he worked quickly to cover his shock, 'Care to tell me how you know?'

'Everyone in the galaxy knows by now. Your man couldn't have been more obvious about this whole affair if he'd tried.'

The acerbic tone made Krassus stiffen with dislike. 'Crixus is a turian hero,' he growled defensively.

'An exaggeration, but he did serve his purpose well, I suppose.'

'Enough,' Krassus snapped, 'I want to know why you're risking contact so soon after an operation? If the Citadel Fleet are monitoring their comm buoys there's a chance this transmission could be intercepted.'

Yanus laughed aloud, the terminal rendering the sound as little more than a crackle. 'So timid. I see your trust has waned in recent months, despite the faith I have shown you and your men. You did not seem quite so nervous when I provided you with your weapons, armour and training facilities, did you?'

The general cringed in frustration. Their benefactor was right, no matter how much Krassus despised him. As strong as the Legion was, it was Yanus and his contacts who had provided them with a base of operations and the equipment they needed to carry out their missions. It was a steep debt and Yanus never missed an opportunity to remind him of it.

'You didn’t answer my question.'

'Now, now, General, no need for ill manners. I simply wanted to congratulate you. It was a difficult task and your man did well to carry it out. My condolences, by the way, Tribune.'

Varn bristled at Krassus' back and the general's eyes darted about the room, searching for anything that could have given away Varn's presence. Though Krassus had his doubts as to whether or not Yanus could actually see them, the simple idea of being watched was enough to make him burn with anger.

'In light of your sacrifices,' Yanus continued, 'I have given thanks in my own way. Your next shipment will contain several cases of rare quarian fire spirit, a luxury almost unobtainable even to their own people. Your men will certainly find it more pleasant than warm Zoryan rainwater.'

Krassus snorted. 'And what good will that do me aside from getting my men drunk and useless? I need everyone at their best for the next phase of the operation.'

'Ah, but your people have worked so hard, General. Surely they deserve a rest? Besides, this brings me to the true purpose of my call. I am ordering you to stand down until further notice and cease all activity immediately. Recall all of your agents and wait for my word before you move again.'

Incensed, Krassus slammed a hand on his desk, almost shaking the terminal from its perch. 'How dare you presume to tell me what to do with my own soldiers!' he shouted, sending flecks of whitish spittle through the air, 'Nobody gives me orders, Yanus, _nobody!_ '

Another rasping chuckle hissed from the terminal, the red line spiking with every harsh sound.

'Perhaps I've misjudged you then, General. It seems you do not need my help after all, and the fact that you were only able to carry out your mission successfully with technology I supplied was merely a coincidence. If you do not have a use for what I offer then maybe I should come and collect what I have given you, since the debt has not nearly been paid.'

Krassus worked his mouth in silent fury. He ached to defy the voice that spoke to him so insolently, to tell the bastard to go to hell but after a few agonising, indecisive seconds he sagged in defeat.

'Fine. If that’s what you recommend, I’ll pull my men back for now.'

'This is for your own good, General,' Yanus went on, his tone growing darker, 'I do not make these choices flippantly, or with lack of forethought. The Council are treating your attack as an attempt on their very lives and they will pursue you with everything at their disposal. You will be hunted ruthlessly. Every loose stone will be upturned and everyone you know, your former comrades, even the families of your men will be pressed for any scrap of information. Discretion is key at this moment and if anyone can safeguard your precious Legion from this storm, it is I.'

The voice dipped into silence for a moment and Krassus frowned at as a thin, metallic scratching came from the other end of the line.

Yanus returned quickly, though he sounded strained, 'This is no army you can face with rifles and artillery, General. Your enemy is invisible, relentless and you will need me as a shield against them. _That_ is the real value of my assistance, not the weapons and equipment I have provided you. Without me, the Council will take only days to purge you from your squalid little hole.'

Krassus bore the slight, flinching as if it were a physical blow. His sharp teeth ground together behind his mandibles.

'Very well,' he said reluctantly, 'I'll continue training my men until you give the word.'

'I'm glad to see you embrace reason. Make no mistake, General, the true test is yet to come. I will make contact once the waters have stilled.'

A loud click signalled the end of the conversation and an oppressive silence fell on the room. Krassus stood for a moment, shifting his weight slowly, unsure of what to do. The hold Yanus had over the Legion was galling but for the time being at least, there was nothing he could do.

He sighed quietly and turned to see Varn staring at him intently.

'What?' Krassus asked defensively, chafing under his Second's gaze. He knew Varn saw no honour in the partnership with Yanus and there was no hiding the naked contempt in the tribune’s glare.

'Every day that passes, we slip farther under his thumb,' Varn replied.

Grimacing, Krassus strolled past him to the window to watch the moon rise like a baleful wraith from the beyond the hills. Nature was so simple in both its beauty and savagery, he reflected. Both were severe in their extremes and yet it was always simple nonetheless. Beasts killed one another for survival, without worry or care for machinations or subtleties. Sometimes the old general envied them.

'What should I do then, Avitus?' he answered finally, without taking his eyes from the window, 'Defy Yanus? Take his money and hide? It'd be little better than if we hadn't accepted his help to begin with. What good were we doing the galaxy without these weapons or armour? Would you rather we still trained our recruits in Palaven basements and hill camps?'

'At least there was dignity in that,' Varn said quietly.

'What dignity?' Krassus spat, 'Scurrying around like rats, shouting our ideals from the hilltops without having the strength to enforce them? You still see honour in being a barely-tolerated nuisance?'

Varn clenched a fist but showed no further reaction. He stared at Krassus impassively, allowing the silence to stretch until the general felt it as an itch on his back.

Another tiny insect crawled up the scales of Varn's neck but this time he did not reach up to pluck it away. Instead he remained motionless, until eventually Krassus relented with a resigned shake of his head.

'It's too late, Avitus,' he sighed, 'You don't know the man, what he's capable of. Yanus is one of those rare people who can move star systems when they find something they want. With his own hands, he's killed men and women who were supposed to be untouchable, people who thought only old age could possibly take them. If we even thought of leaving, of betraying him, then every one of us would be dead within a month. I can't risk the lives of my men like that, Avitus, you know I can't.'

'He may just decide to do that anyway.'

Krassus shrugged. 'If that's true then there's little point in running from it, not while we can still further our goals with his help. I'd rather die tomorrow as a schaffa than live a thousand lifetimes as a pyjack.'

To his surprise, Varn grinned at the old saying and a touch of the old enthusiasm entered the room. Krassus had first muttered it at the beginning of the Seventh Exodus, when they had all been younger and full of dreams. Time had dulled those turbulent emotions and yet Krassus was grateful for every one of those early memories.

Varn straightened. 'Yes, Sir,' he said, the grin disappearing as quickly as it had come, 'Always the schaffa.'

Without need of an order, Varn turned smartly and strode out of the quarters. He would stand down those who were getting ready to deploy and, if he was lucky, would find a small amount of rest himself.

 _There’s something we all desperately need,_ Krassus thought wearily. The men's morale would be buoyed by the Legion's victory but Yanus' presence had soiled the occasion for him.

As he turned from the moonlit jungle, Krassus let out a deep breath and wandered to his bunk, drawing out a small bottle of turian whiskey from beneath the mattress. It was a habit that was almost as old as he was, though in these trying times it was more a necessity than a guilty pleasure. In spite of his constant exhaustion, sleep never came easily any more.

 

**~~ME-I~~**

 

'Well, there's the man of the hour,' Garrus said warmly as Arlen approached.

The young turian's step faltered. He had been on his way to a briefing with Chellick and did not expect to see Garrus standing outside the commander's office. For a moment Arlen wondered if they had had their own discussion without him but quickly brushed the thought aside. Even if they had, it was none of his business.

He replied as evenly as he could, not wishing to be drawn into a conversation that would leave Chellick waiting, 'I don’t feel all that special.'

'Hey, you did good out there. I don't know anyone else in C-Sec who would've volunteered to disarm a nuclear weapon or fight an assassin on their first day. Except maybe me, of course.'

Arlen swallowed awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the praise. He felt that he had simply been borne along, powerless as events unfolded around him. His own contributions felt hollow and only an instilled sense of duty had stopped him from questioning Pallin's decision to elevate him to full Interceptor status. If wiser men had decided it, then it was not his place to argue.

'Thanks,’ he finally said, ‘I appreciate your help. With everything.'

His voice trailed off as something nagged at him, a question that had been on his mind ever since he left the clinic to meet Keller in Dark Star. He took a step forward, intending to brush past Garrus without another word but that same doubt stopped him.

His fingers clenched instinctively for a moment and he spoke again. 'What happened exactly with I'Layna Naris?'

His mandibles twitching uncomfortably, Garrus forced a response. 'I got what I...what we needed,' he said sadly, 'I just wish I'd have known...'

'So it's true that she’s dead?' Arlen asked as he turned to face him, 'I thought it was just a rumour.'

Garrus sighed and allowed his head to drop slightly. 'It depends on who you ask. The fact is that yes, my actions led to her death and no, it obviously wasn't worth it. I had no way of knowing the bomb was a fake, I just made the call and was the wrong one. I wish I could go back and change it but that's not possible.'

Arlen nodded slowly but his expression did not change. 'So what's going to happen now?'

His interest piqued as Garrus’ eyes drifted to the side for a moment before meeting Arlen’s once again. 'That's not up to me. All I can do is try and live with what I've done and help take down the people responsible for all this.'

'Even if the bomb was real,' Arlen replied quietly, as if to himself, 'and that information ended up saving the Citadel, you'd still be responsible for the death of an innocent.'

He did not know if Garrus would answer. Perhaps he simply did not want to hear it. Lowering his eyes, Arlen turned and entered Chellick's office, leaving Garrus behind in the silent corridor.

As the door closed, Arlen exhaled deeply, unhappy with both his former partner and himself. He tried to convince himself the matter was simple, that Garrus was wrong and yet he still felt guilt gnaw at him for his own failings. No one was perfect and worse still, no one had stopped the Jamestown attack. Who was he to judge Garrus?

'Ah, Agent Kryik,' Chellick called out in greeting, startling him from his thoughts, 'I believe congratulations are in order.'

Chellick stood behind his seat at the end of a large conference table, leaning over to casually tap a few commands into a portable terminal sitting on the edge. It was obvious the office was used only when Chellick needed the privacy. Dust lined the chairs and the table itself had only recently been cleaned, wrapped as it was in the sweet scent of furniture polish. 

Stepping forward, Arlen glanced at a bank of shuttered windows to his left. The view encompassed the entire command centre, though only thin slits were visible in the shutters, drenching the room in shadow. Behind them he could make out the bustling figures of JSTF staff, appearing as black and blue-clad spots flowing between the stripes of orange light.

'Thank you, Sir,' Arlen replied as he stopped at the other side of the table. His brow furrowed as Chellick waved a hand dismissively.

'It's just Chellick to you. Now you're a full agent I consider us equals. Within reason, of course.'

Arlen bobbed his head in appreciation, though he still wavered as he spoke, uncomfortable with speaking on even terms to a superior. 'Thank you…Chellick. Executor Pallin told me to report to you for my briefing.'

'Yes,' Chellick sighed, 'though this is the first time I've had to brief an Interceptor, so I'll have to beg your patience.'

'But this isn't an Interceptor assignment, Sir-' Arlen caught himself quickly and corrected, 'Chellick.'

The commander shrugged. 'Even so, my people usually know what to do so I'm used to only having to reinforce their goals from time to time. In any case, I've had the team put together a dossier that should contain everything you need for your mission. Anything new will be relayed to you as and when.'

Chellick pulled out a seat and lowered himself in, shifting uncomfortably as his armour pressed against his back. He motioned for Arlen to do the same and the agent obliged, sitting to face him directly. Chellick's terminal blazed with sudden flashes of information, casting flickering shadows across the wall behind him.

'First of all,' he began, 'I'll need to explain a few things. You're now an Interceptor, one of C-Sec's elite. You'll be working in much the same way as you have today, that is you'll be carrying out investigations with the help of a support team based on up-to-the-minute information. Interceptors work alone, or in small teams if more than one fugitive is to be apprehended. For the most part however, they work best by themselves. Having too many C-Sec agents in one place tends to draw unwanted attention and capturing a target requires the element of surprise above all else.'

Pausing, Chellick took a moment to tap an unseen command into his terminal, his mouth firming in annoyance at the interruption.

'Your main mission objective,' he went on, looking up at Arlen once again, 'Is to apprehend General Jardan Krassus and bring him back here to await trial. You are to avoid killing him at all costs. A terrorist he may be, but he's still a popular figure in turian space and only the shame of a public trial will be enough to dislodge any remaining support for his organisation. If the Forgotten Legion gets in your way, consider them expendable.'

Arlen blinked away the sickening sense of being lost. The task was beyond impossible, even for a veteran agent and certainly for one who had seen as little action as him.

Chellick seemed to sense his apprehension. 'That's only the final step. First you'll have to find him. As you know, the key component of the Legion’s virus delivery system was provided by a tech company named Bithcon Dynamics, operating out of the deep space station known as Omega. You are to go there and follow the trail. In the meantime, JSTF will continue to analyse the Jamestown Virus and if we get any breakthroughs, we'll let you know.'

'The Jamestown Virus?' Arlen asked curiously.

Chellick grunted in amusement. 'The techies came up with the name and it's stuck. Reminds us all why we're doing this, I guess.'

'Will I be operating solo?'

'No. As you said yourself, this is not an Interceptor assignment and you've been officially released by Pallin to work with us here in JSTF. I've assigned Lina to you since you two seemed to work well together earlier, and she of course has her team at her disposal. She will be your personal contact here and will be responsible for filtering intel through on a regular basis, as well as any mission updates.'

'She sure knows what she's doing,' Arlen replied with satisfaction. He felt somewhat more assured with the quarian on his side and was glad to know that her advice would be readily available. 'What about on Omega?'

'After what happened with Crixus, I'd be a fool not to send you some kind of backup. You're going to be accompanied by Detective Keller on this.'

'Wh-what?' Arlen stuttered, his eyes widening, ‘Sir, she’s no more trained for this kind of operation than I am!’

'She can't go back undercover on the Citadel, at least not for a while. It's far too risky. She'll be of more use to all of us on Omega. Don’t underestimate her, Arlen, she's experienced and as tough as they come. She could certainly teach you a thing or two, if you're okay with taking advice from a human.' He cocked a brow at Arlen's stunned expression. 'Is there a problem?'

Blinking, Arlen composed himself as best he could, though his rushed answer threatened to betray him, 'No, no problem, none at all. I'm…just surprised. Will she have any authority outside Citadel space?'

'No,' Chellick laughed, 'but then again, technically neither do you so you’ll have to rely on the goodwill of the locals. Remember that you're a part of C-Sec and any action you take reflects on us as a whole. Gunning down Terminus residents won't look good on the Council and could fuel tensions in the area if your identity is uncovered.' 

Chellick’s nostril slits flared as he paused for a moment. 'There's one more thing.'

Arlen raised his brow plates questioningly.

'The Council are under pressure from the Alliance. The humans see what happened earlier as an ethnically-motivated attack, something that deserves immediate action. As we all know, the Council don't do ‘immediate’. They want to let us run our investigation in our own time but the Alliance aren't satisfied. They want their own people in on this, people who answer directly to the human ambassador.'

'Is that why Keller's being sent along too?'

Chellick shrugged. 'Because she's human? Unlikely. The Alliance wanted one of their N7 special forces teams dedicated to the hunt for Krassus but, of course, the last thing anyone wants are human soldiers parading around a turian prisoner. Not only that but if the general is hiding in Hierarchy space then, well, their presence could start a war.'

'So what's the Council going to do?' asked Arlen.

'As a show to the Alliance that they're taking the threat seriously, they're sending out a Spectre to help you, goes by the name of Olansi, Kotah Olansi. His details are classified, as you can imagine but I know they've pulled him away from an ongoing assignment just to assist us. That should give you a little confidence boost going out, am I right?'

'To say the least,' Arlen replied, his voice heavy with relief. It was a good solution for all of them. The move might allay some of the Alliance's anger toward the Council while Arlen, being only a rookie agent, would find the Spectre's expertise invaluable.

'Well,' Chellick announced, raising his hands, 'I guess all that's left are the specifics. You and Keller are booked on a civilian flight to Ilium, and from there you can get a shuttle to wherever you need to go. Olansi will contact you when you arrive on Omega. I'd advise against broadcasting your presence too much so stick to public transportation and avoid flashing your credentials. Oh, and don't worry about finding the Spectre either; he'll find you.' 

'That's a little vague,' Arlen grumbled, 'Are things always this cloak-and-dagger?'

Chellick shook his head, chuckling. 'You'd be surprised. If you thought catching a wanted fugitive would be a simple case of strolling up and slapping on the cuffs, then prepare to be shocked.'

A small grin creased Arlen's features and, to his surprise, he found that he had grown calmer while Chellick was speaking. He began to relish the idea of using his wits to take some measure of revenge for the Jamestown, and with the confirmation that not only would he have company, but that of a Spectre, his spirits had been raised immeasurably.

'All right then,' he said, rising to his feet, 'I'll download the mission dossier from Lina and get ready. Is there anything else I need to know?'

'No, not yet at least. Just make sure you run a comms check with Lina's team before you leave. Your omni-tool will have to be upgraded to handle extra-solar communications. Keller will meet you at the docks when you're ready. Good luck, Arlen.'

Arlen inclined his head respectfully and seemed to stand straighter as the reality of his new position sank in. Though his grief over the lost civilians had not dulled, he found he could focus it into a hot, driving spike of desire to see justice done. General Krassus and the Forgotten Legion were his responsibility and he would not fail.

As he left the office, he felt each stride grow longer and more powerful. He was afraid, but would show his enemies nothing. He was now a C-Sec Interceptor, and he would bring Krassus in alive.


	11. Chapter 11

At first Arlen thought they'd handed him the wrong dossier. He couldn't believe they wanted a man like Krassus brought back in chains. 

His eyes scanned the datapad, steadily taking in every small detail. Everything that had occurred in the general's life was laid bare for Arlen to see, from his childhood and education to the beginnings of an auspicious military career.

Despite his hatred of what the Forgotten Legion had done, Arlen could not help but feel a measure of admiration for the man. Krassus had been awarded nearly a dozen medals and commendations, including the Star of the Valiant - the highest honour in the turian military - for his part in the siege of Shanxi. Such things were not easily ignored by fellow turians, no matter the circumstances.

Sighing, Arlen cast a glance out of the window beside him. The stars of the Sahrabarik system were distant and dim, as if reluctant to offer their light to that infamous area of space. Even the transport ship he was travelling in was dirty and ill-maintained, its crew rough. Every one of the passengers brandished a weapon of some description and he couldn't ignore the armed guards stationed at every airlock.

With a deep breath, he returned to the dossier and began to look over the images of Krassus and his men. He narrowed his eyes in grim concentration, forcing to memory every facet of the general's appearance. Arlen took in everything, from the cold blue eyes to the cyan paint decorating Krassus' pitted grey skin.

This was the face of Arlen's target and he would not forget it.

'Ugh…' Keller grunted as she staggered up to the seat next to Arlen, making him start.

'Still not feeling any better?' he asked, setting the datapad down on his lap.

He looked at the detective sympathetically as she clutched her stomach and and took her seat with a grimace. Once settled, she threw back her head and took deep, hungry breaths. Her eyes were closed against the sickness and her golden hair fell in tangles across her damp forehead.

'God _damn_ it,' she cursed loudly, 'This is what happens when you never leave the Citadel your whole life. I never knew those freaking momentum dampeners would turn my stomach so bad.'

'Hey, look on the bright side,' Arlen replied, 'At least you can move around a little better in that outfit.'

He nodded to the shining black dress that clung to Keller's slim frame. Strips of white ran down the sleeves and one side of the torso, accentuating the curves of her figure.

It was meant to be a compliment but Keller did not respond. Instead she held her breath in anticipation of another nauseous wave.

Next to her obvious pain and distress, Arlen felt guilty for his own pleasure at finally getting to shed his combat armour. The touch of solid surfaces under his fingers seemed odd after so long spent encased in plated gloves and every so often he had to run a disbelieving hand across the arms of his seat, relishing the simple feel of moulded plastic.

He only wished he were as pleased with his own clothing as Keller had been with hers. His formal suit of dark grey with red lining felt too old-fashioned, even for his own conservative tastes.

Still, Keller had insisted that he needed to look like a businessman for his cover as an arms dealer to remain credible and he was not inclined to argue with her - even more so after her assurances, joking or no, that he was the most handsome turian she'd ever met. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to break his subsequent promise of not repeating her words to Garrus.

Keller groaned again. 'It doesn't matter what I'm wearing. If I have to get up and go to that disgusting bathroom one more time I'm going to scream.'

'Yeah…screaming would be bad, seeing as how we don't want to draw attention. Humans aren't too popular in the Terminus Systems, you know.'

Arlen's concern was no exaggeration. The eyes of several batarian passengers had narrowed when they'd first noticed Keller, though it was obvious they would not disturb the fragile peace on the transport, not while the guards were so close.

'Speaking of,' Keller began, composing herself with a deep draught of air through her nostrils, 'we'd better recap the plan.'

Arlen nodded. 'This Spectre, Olansi, is supposed to meet us in terminal beta of Omega's central commercial docking ring. As dangerous as Omega is, there's a large civilian population in that part of the station and the entire area is locked down by the Blue Suns mercenary group. From what I hear, that's about as safe as the place gets.'

'And the safehouse?'

'Chellick said it's in a more upmarket area, away from the worst of the slums.' Arlen paused to scratch the back of his neck. 'I don't know exactly what defines 'upmarket' on Omega, but there you go.'

'I assume that just means we're less likely to get stabbed, shot or incinerated, at least without due notice.'

Chuckling, Arlen picked up the datapad again and handed it to Keller. She refused, holding her hand up while cringing in disgust. 'I can't read, not while I'm feeling like this. Just thinking about it makes me 'wanna vomit into your lap.'

Arlen nodded and stowed the dossier. He looked back at Keller curiously. 'Is this really your the first time away from the Citadel?'

'Yeah,' she replied, her voice barely more than a husky whisper, 'Never had to leave before. Is it really that strange? The Citadel's a big place, big enough for someone to spend their whole life in.'

'I don't know, I guess it is a little strange. After all, humans are always thought of as immigrants and newcomers. In fact, I was pretty surprised to see so many of your kind on the Citadel. What brought your family there in the first place?'

Keller smiled despite her illness, the memories of childhood clearly relieving her discomfort. 'Mom always said the Citadel was the future, that we were the pioneers of our time. We were among the first wave of humans to emigrate to the station and most of us set up shop in Tayseri Ward. My dad had his own business back on Earth but he wasn't doing too well. We took everything we had and decided to make a fresh start where there was little human competition.' Keller's smile widened and her eyes glistened with emotion. 'Dad was quiet though, the regular mild-mannered guy-next-door. It was mom who called the shots and it was her idea to leave.'

'Did they find success?' Arlen asked with genuine interest.

'Not really,' she sighed, 'They made enough money to get by but life was always tough in the wards. They'd have to put up with the occasional bigot and clean up the odd racist slur painted on their door. It was no worse than the crime we faced back home really, but it was still a lot to handle as a kid and it was hard growing up there at times. I had to learn how to deal with other races and thanks to my young age, I think I did well enough. Then Harkin joined C-Sec and everything changed.'

'You knew Harkin?'

Keller considered the question for what seemed a long time before shaking her head. 'No, but he was famous for a little while, especially among the human community. First of us to get into C-Sec and all that. That was twenty years ago but I remember hearing the news like it was yesterday. I used to look up to the C-Sec officers, those proud, tall aliens dressed in their blue uniforms. When I heard humans were being accepted into their ranks, I knew right away it was what I wanted to do.'

'That's some resolve, considering you followed it through,' Arlen stated with real admiration, 'How old were you back then?'

'Only eleven. After a good thirteen years in C-Sec, catching bad guys and making the wards a safer place, I think I can say I made that little girl proud.'

'Wait,' Arlen said, his mouth remaining open as the pieces of information fell into place, 'That would make you…thirty-one years old?'

'Mmhmm…' Keller confirmed with a nod. Her smile was tight, however and it was clear she did not wish to continue that particular line of conversation.

'I apologise,' Arlen quickly added, 'I'm just surprised, that's all. You look younger, I mean, from what I know about humans and how old they look.'

He trailed off as Keller raised a mocking eyebrow. 'You're digging yourself deeper here, buddy.'

'Wait!' Arlen gasped, 'I'm just saying that I thought you were at least five, maybe seven years younger! Isn't that a good thing to hear? Um…not that I'm just telling you what you want to hear, but-'

Keller's laugh rang out through the aisles, bringing a few inquisitive heads up from the rows of seats. Arlen could only flush as tears sprang to her eyes and her cheeks began to redden.

'I'm sorry!' she spluttered between fits, 'I'm sorry but you're just too damn much!'

Shamed, Arlen folded his arms and went back to staring out the window but something in Keller's laugh made the young turian grin sheepishly and it wasn't long before he turned back again. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck nervously.

'Sorry,' Keller repeated. She sniffed loudly and dabbed the wetness from her eyes. 'Okay, I'm done. You know, you're kind of adorable when you get all flustered like that.'

After a few moments, Arlen gained the courage to speak again, 'So, you were saying about your family?'

Keller shrugged. 'Not much left to say. I joined C-Sec when I was eighteen and after a year's training I got assigned to my first district. My parents left when I joined up and now they're running a franchise on Beckenstein, a human-controlled planet in the Boltzmann System.' Her voice grew low and reflective, and her gaze drifted slowly to the side. 'I keep telling myself to go out there and see them but, with work and everything, I just haven't had the chance.'

Arlen lowered his head. There was a gentle sadness in Keller's voice that clashed with the mirth of only seconds ago. He blinked, wanting to say something that would cheer her up and his lips hovered apart as he remained on the cusp of speaking. There was nothing he could say, he quickly realised, and the silence stretched between them.

'What about you?' Keller asked suddenly, 'Do you ever get to see your family?'

Arlen became very still at that. Once more, his mouth parted but nothing but nothing came out.

Keller frowned at his hesitation. 'Are you all right?'

'Yeah,' he replied, looking back to the stars, 'I just don't talk about my family much'

'Why not?'

Arlen gave no sign that he'd even heard her. His eyes began to flit back and forth, as if searching the distant void for an answer. Finally, he released his breath.

'It's nothing.'

Her eyes still fixed on him, Keller eased herself back into the chair.

'I didn't mean to pry,' she murmured softly.

'It's fine,' Arlen replied, offering a feeble smile but nothing more.

The seconds passed by awkwardly until without warning, Keller doubled over, groaning in agony.

'Not again!' she moaned and in a heartbeat her chair was empty, the pounding of running feet echoing through the aisles.

Arlen's chest heaved with a quiet sigh. He felt ashamed that he'd brushed off Keller's question so brusquely after she had shared so much, and yet the reaction was not even one he chose to give. The mere mention of his family had brought up memories and feelings he'd worked hard to bury and he was shocked by how raw they still were.

Sighing, he picked up Krassus' dossier once again. His mission would banish those old ghosts, he was certain. Nothing else mattered.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Milo worked in sombre silence, staring at his terminal screen. He did not seem to hear the hurried conversations or the orders shouted from one side of the command centre to the other. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the information passing before them, twitching slightly every few moments. He barely reacted when a blue-skinned hand came to rest on his shoulder.

'Hey,' Lorica murmured into his ear as she tenderly pressed her head against his, 'Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?'

'No, it's all right,' her lover replied, forcing a smile, 'I know Chellick didn't have a choice.'

'Come on, I know it must have been hard for you,' she persisted, 'Please, talk to me.'

Milo let out a long, deep breath. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand down his face. 'I don't know. So many people died today. So many families, couples like us, people who woke up this morning excited and happy, thinking they were going to see the Citadel. They had nothing to do with the First Contact War, or anything the Forgotten Legion holds a grudge over. It's just not fair. Any of it.'

Frowning to himself, Milo jerked back into position and pressed his gaze back to his monitor. 'Sorry, I'm moping.'

Lorica bent over slightly and draped her arms over his shoulders, gently pulling his body to hers. 'It's okay,' she whispered reassuringly, 'Nobody's blaming you for being upset over what happened. It's good that you're so concerned about those people's lives and I don't doubt that you would've reacted the same way had they been turian, asari, anything other than human. You're a good person, Milo, and that's nothing to be ashamed of.'

Closing his eyes, Milo visibly tried to shut out his grief. 'Thanks. I guess I just never realised what it would be like, to see something like that happen and not be able to do anything to stop it. Maybe I'm in the wrong job.'

Instantly, Lorica knelt beside him and used a hand to gently bring his eyes to hers. 'You _are_ stopping it. We might have lost the Jamestown but our work here will prevent the Legion repeating their attack across the galaxy. We need you here, Milo. I need you here.'

'Yeah,' he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He took her hand and gave it a subtle squeeze before his eyes moved up to look beyond her. Milo's expression changed almost instantly. 'Sorry, Lina, we're getting back to work, honest.'

Lorica's head swivelled and she regarded Lina with her customary iciness as the quarian stood over them, her fingers drumming sternly over her folded arms. A datapad lay clutched against her chest, her suit shining as it pressed the material into her body.

'On the contrary,' Lina replied, the gentleness of her tone catching them both off-guard, 'I just wanted to ask if you would like to go home for the time being. It's late enough as it is and nobody has missed the way you've confined yourself to your desk since this afternoon.'

Her words lacked the bark of command, replaced instead with genuine concern and Milo looked taken aback at the change in her manner.

'I'll be fine, thanks,' he finally replied, shaking his head, 'Really, thank you. It's kind of you to offer.'

'Believe it or not, I care about the wellbeing of the people I work with,' Lina responded dryly, 'So this isn't just an offer. I'm ordering you to go and get some rest. Report back when you feel you're ready.'

Lorica stood up and glared at Lina, her fists clenched. 'You can't just send him away like that if he doesn't want to go! We need him to-'

'It's all right, baby,' Milo interrupted as he gripped her arm lightly, 'The section will run just fine without me and I could use some sleep. It might even clear my head a little. I'll be back soon, okay?'

He rose groggily and his exhaustion became immediately apparent. Without the light of his terminal, Milo's eyes appeared dark and sunken, his well-groomed beard rough and unkempt. He walked away stiffly, raising his arms to gently push aside anyone in his way.

Lorica did not even look at Lina when the quarian spoke again, 'It was for his own good. The guy could barely keep his eyes open.'

Lorica shook with anger and her eyes were edged with bitter tears. She inhaled quickly to crush the welling of emotion.

'Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,' she muttered, 'You're always right, after all.'

Lina shrugged indifferently at the asari's stiff response. Turning back to her datapad, she walked away briskly, annoyed at herself for getting so distracted.

Crossing the command centre, Lina leapt up the stairs of the central dais in almost a single bound. Chellick stood there as always, engrossed in the displays that ringed the platform and it took obvious effort to wrench himself from them to nod a greeting to Lina as she approached.

'When I got in this morning,' he began wearily, 'I never thought I'd be here this late. If I had, then I'd have eaten a bigger breakfast, that's for sure.'

The remark reminded Lina of her own rumbling stomach but she ignored it, suppressing the discomfort as she did everything else. She handed Chellick the datapad, dutifully proud of what lay within.

'These are the findings you requested,' she said, 'We may have further details throughout the night but for now, this should be enough to satisfy whoever needs it.' 

After only a few moments of reading, Chellick raised a brow. 'You really dug all this out of only a few scraps of code?'

The turian sounded impressed and Lina knew it was deserved. 'It wasn't too difficult. The only problem is how far we're going to get with the samples we have alone. Unless Arlen can turn something up at Bithcon Dynamics then I'm afraid we'll run into a dead end very soon. So far, we've been able to ascertain the Jamestown Virus is highly adaptive and aggressive, able to penetrate almost any secure network and - if there's a counterpart process in place - it can even remotely reach systems off the grid. Once we isolate the source code, we can begin to understand its true purpose.'

' _True_ purpose?' Chellick asked.

Lina shook her head. 'Odd as it sounds, we just aren't sure what the virus is actually supposed to do. The first stage responds to outside stimuli like an organic being, as I said before but only within the context of its goal. The Jamestown Virus was able to disable the ship and evade all security countermeasures it came across but I have a feeling that if something unexpected were to have happened, something that went outside the boundaries of its initial programming, then the consequences would've been entirely different.'

'Like what?'

'The presence of an unanticipated security protocol, insertion into a different part of the Citadel, even something as straightforward as the Jamestown simply not being there when the time came. You see, the virus begins as a simple repeating algorithm, created with a series of simple flaws that force it to adapt and come up with a solution, or else the cycle comes to a halt and it...well, dies. With every solution the cycle begins anew, with the added knowledge of how to solve the previous problem. But those flaws are carefully chosen and introduced at just the right time. If the flaw lies outside the context of the algorithm at that particular stage then it all simply stops working.'

'So,' Chellick said slowly as he began to make sense of it all, 'you're saying that in order for the virus to be effective, it has to be used in exactly the right way, at exactly the right time and place?'

'Exactly,' Lina replied with a nod, 'Though I can't even begin to imagine what it would do if faced with anything to the contrary.'

Chellick made a soft growling sound in the back of his throat. 'If what you say is true, that it displays the instincts of an organic, then wouldn't it act like any confused animal and lash out at anything in its path?'

'Perhaps. A computer virus travelling aimlessly and unpredictably through the Citadel's networks, able to disable anything from life support to the main engines...' Lina paused as a chill entered her blood at the thought. 'It's not the most pleasant scenario.'

'I don't know what worries me more. From the way you describe it, the virus may have been far more destructive had the Legion _not_ gone after the Jamestown. What kind of a weapon is more useful if it fails?'

Lost for a moment in his own words, Chellick cleared his throat and gave Lina a grin, if anything to dispel the brooding air their conversation had brought on. 'Good work, Lina. Was there anything you wanted from me while I'm here? I might not be around for a few hours tomorrow morning.'

Lina shook her head and, almost in a single motion, tilted it inquisitively. Few within JSTF knew of Chellick's early meeting with Executor Pallin and the human ambassador, Donnel Udina, and she quietly wondered if her intel on the virus would be used in the talks.

'Looking forward to your appointment, I see,' she said jokingly and the turian managed a half-hearted smile, his own reservation clear.

'Politics is the realm of politicians and I've never been one for that particular game. The idea of toying with other people for my own benefit just makes my skin crawl. I don't know how they make a living from it.'

Lina looked as if she were about to interject but quickly decided against it. All of those smug, suited men and women were worlds apart from her.

'We don't need to know,' she finally said.

'True enough. At the very least, I'll have Pallin there to do the talking. Maybe one of the Councillors will attend but I'm not holding out much hope of that. Looks like it's just going to be me, Pallin, Udina and more intergalactic lawyers than you can shake a stick at.'

Lina frowned beneath her visor. 'What is this meeting all about, if you don't mind me asking?'

'I'm not entirely sure. I know I'm supposed to brief the ambassador on the current state of the investigation but aside from that, it's all a little hush-hush. Were I to guess, I'd say it's another chance for Udina to try and muscle in on how we're doing things.'

'I see. Well, it should make for entertaining listening, at least.'

Chellick laughed quietly. 'That it should.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

A warm breeze glanced across Arlen's face. It was not a natural current however, and his nostrils narrowed as they detected a thick tang of untreated sewage. He looked up at the immense fans dotting the ceiling of the vast docking bay and quietly cursed whoever had thought of routing the ventilation from waste disposal to that area. 

He eyed Keller warily as she staggered from the docking tube. The stench was overwhelming and it was clear that it would send her into another bout of sickness if they did not leave soon.

'Welcome to Omega,' he said lightly, though the joke went unheard as his voice was swallowed by the press of disembarking passengers, each eager to escape the putrid atmosphere.

Keller leaned against him, her arms wrapped around one of his for support. Arlen did his best to keep her steady while his eyes took in every detail of their surroundings.

At their backs, the long grey docking umbilical stretched out to their transport, now enclosed by the colossal kinetic barrier that ran the length of the bay. Across its surface worked dozens of contracted workers who scrambled to perform routine maintenance before the ship left for its next destination.

As large as the transport was, it was dwarfed by the other vessels that had paid to alight at the largest and safest port in Omega. To Arlen's eye, more than fifty other ships occupied the hangar, from small personal shuttles to bulky freighters. The distinctive profile of a batarian raiding ship stood at the far end, though the crew were nowhere to be seen.

Setting his jaw, Arlen wondered what would happen if they were accosted by such people at that moment. Keller was in no condition to fight and against several armed men, Arlen's sidearm would not be enough.

He found his question answered as he picked out the security detail for the port beyond the crowd.

Clad in their distinctive blue and white armour, several Blue Suns mercenaries stood watch, their heads turning slightly as they scanned for troublemakers. From the shape of their helmets, Arlen counted two turians and a human, to whom the others seemed to defer. It was an odd thing to see and he could only guess as to how the Blue Suns kept their organisation so free of ethnic tension that his people would accept orders from a human.

Beside him, Keller coughed hoarsely. He glanced at her with a pang of worry. Her condition had only worsened as their journey went on and her skin had grown pale and waxen. Her eyes were blurred with tears as they met his.

'I threw up,' she whispered.

All of her previous confidence and self-reliance had been battered away by the debilitating nausea that had gripped her and she somehow looked smaller and more frail as she clung tightly to Arlen's limb.

'Five times,' she added.

For anyone else Arlen might have felt a pitiable remorse but for her, he felt an odd sense of protectiveness and his response was immediate.

'You're in no state to meet anyone, Detective. I'm sending you to the safe house, where you can get some rest and settle down while I meet Olansi. I'll check on you later.'

'I want to come,' she murmured, though her words were slurred with dizziness, 'I can help, you know I can.'

'You can help yourself by getting some rest,' Arlen replied with a chuckle.

Keller swayed groggily, almost throwing them off-balance as they passed through a passageway into a great, murky hall, thick with people of all size and species.

The Blue Suns controlled the area in large numbers, with several patrols pressing between seething torrents of batarians, salarians and elcor. A scuffle broke out between a lurking gang of turians, though they quickly dispersed after a barked order from an armoured guard. They glowered menacingly at his raised assault rifle as they fled but offered no resistance.

No one seemed to mind or even register the event at all and the crowds flowed smoothly through the hall, passing under a layer of yellow mist that hung over their heads in a thick cloud. Arlen did not want to guess what chemicals it contained.

It did not take long for them to pass through the terminal. Without a customs checkpoint there was nothing to hold them up and as Chellick had advised, the pair of them travelled light, with only a small case between them. Heavy baggage would only have been stolen, and the presence of any C-Sec issue equipment would have been reported and their presence closely monitored the very moment they set foot on the station.

Keller clutched the case to her chest as Arlen eased her into a waiting shuttle outside. She leaned into the seat and gasped softly as Arlen leaned over to punch in the safe house location in the shuttle's autopilot controls. Within minutes she would arrive at her destination and be able to rest.

The thought gave Arlen some comfort, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.

'I'll be an hour at the most,' he said, raising his voice as the rest of the shuttles filled with passengers and started to take off, 'Any more than two, assume something's gone wrong, all right?'

'All right,' Keller replied, forcing a weak smile, 'Two hours max. Be careful, Arlen.'

Arlen nodded and the shuttle door slid into place, sealing her in. He stepped back as the engines fired and with a whining drone, the shuttle rose into the air before lurching forward and speeding away.

Suddenly, Arlen felt very alone. He moved his arm, strangely nostalgic of the weight that had hung from it only minutes ago and the image of Keller's sickened gaze filled his thoughts.

A deep, barking laugh broke the moment and Arlen backed away instinctively as an enormous krogan lumbered into the shuttle queue. The wide curves of its armour were caked in thick paint the colour of dried blood while a crudely daubed skull dominated the right shoulder pad, a gang insignia if Arlen had ever seen one.

The krogan's laugh snapped into silence and its pale, beady eyes shifted over to Arlen with palpable malice. A low growl filled the air and Arlen could not tell if it was the krogan or another shuttle warming its thrusters.

Turning quickly, Arlen walked away, uncomfortable without the reassuring weight of his armour. He doubted his Striker would penetrate the krogan's hide, let alone its suit and he strained his senses as he strode back into the terminal, listening for the sound of following footsteps.

Once back inside, he breathed a little more easily. There was safety in the anonymity of a crowd and Arlen basked in it as he blended into the stream of passers-by once again. Their murmuring voices brought a semblance of calm, as did the Blue Suns patrols ambling freely through the hall.

Checking over his shoulder, Arlen let out a small sigh of relief when he saw the krogan had not followed. His mind turning back to the task at hand, he searched the terminal for something, anything that could signal Olansi's presence.

He did not like Chellick's cryptic instruction. To have no specified meeting point, no description of the Spectre or anything else to go on seemed like madness and for a moment Arlen considered simply leaving and continuing the investigation alone.

'Don't moves,' whispered a voice behind him, the accent strange and foreign to Arlen's ears, 'The public restrooms are thirty paces aheads, to the rights. Head in that directions.'

Cursing inwardly at his own inattention, Arlen might have refused were it not for the distinctive feel of a pistol barrel pressing into his lower back. Without armour, a slug would tear easily through his flesh and he felt a sharp pain as the weapon dug into his skin.

'Start walkings,' the voice ordered.

Obediently, Arlen began to edge his way forward. He tried to go slowly at first but as the pressure from the pistol increased, so did his pace.

His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. His assailant was hidden from view and he dared not turn around. One mistake would likely mean his death and his mind raced desperately to assess his options.

Arlen's eyes flickered from side to side. He took in everything that could be of use in his environment, as he had been trained. Each and every object that his gaze passed over was registered and their uses noted.

Nothing came. He was moving far too quickly and he did not know if an opportunity to escape would arise. In just seconds, he had stepped away from the thinning crowd and waved a hand over the control panel of the restroom door. The sheet of grimy metal groaned and slid aside, old gears loudly protesting their sudden use.

'Who are you?' Arlen asked, only to be answered with a heavy blow to the back of his head.

'You'll speak when spokens to, jerk-tits,' came a hissed response.

 _Jerk-tits?_ Arlen mouthed the insult silently in disbelief, unable to grasp the absurdity of it as they passed into the small, filthy restroom.

Three squalid cubicles lined the wall to their left while a matching set of metallic wash basins were mounted to their right. The sinks were stained brown and black, though whether through rust or bodily fluids was unclear. Cracked mirrors accompanied each basin, warping Arlen's reflection and twisting it into something even more unpleasant than their surroundings.

'Kneels down,' the voice rasped, turning Arlen's blood cold. It was an execution position, and it was not one that he could allow himself to assume.

A sudden thought struck him as the weight of his Striker made itself felt at his thigh. Surely his enemy would have confiscated it if he'd noticed it? Arlen could only take the chance.

With a speed that surprised even him, Arlen turned his body and felt the pistol slide across the hard ridges of his back. In the same instant, he used one arm to knock the gun aside while his other drew the Striker in a single, smooth motion.

The movement ceased, and in the blink of an eye Arlen was holding up his weapon, staring down his sights at his assailant.

The voice had belonged to a salarian, his features obscured by a garish green, purple and white helmet. His armour matched and Arlen could see that nearly every part of the suit had been modified, from the shield generator to the ablative plating.

The salarian's pistol had risen in unison with Arlen's and the two men now stood face to face, each staring down the other's barrel.

Slowly, they began to take short, shuffling steps, circling each other like birds of prey. Neither flinched and Arlen spoke first, his voice crashing through the thick silence.

'Who are you?'

'You tells me your names and I'll tells you mine.'

The salarian seemed to force his voice through the helmet amplifiers and Arlen noticed how tall he was for one of his species. His shoulders too were wider than expected, giving him a strangely unbalanced look as they sat atop a thin, lithe waist.

'I asked first,' Arlen retorted without a trace of fear.

The salarian replied coldly, 'Well, what d'ya knows, shits for brains, we're not playings a guessing games here!'

Arlen's eyes flitted between the outstretched weapons. 'Then it looks like we're at an impasse. We can either settle this peacefully or shoot each other dead, and something tells me if you wanted to die you wouldn't have bothered bringing me here out of sight to begin with.'

'You're not wearing armours,' the salarian muttered angrily, 'Your skins won't stop a slug.'

'Neither will that ugly suit of yours,' Arlen answered back calmly, 'Not at this range. This is a Striker II, using specialised tungsten rounds. If I'm not mistaken, your suit is volus-made, Elkoss to be exact. Good quality but salarian suits always favour mobility over protection. Yours will be thinner than most and won't stand up to a point-blank shot.'

The salarian digested Arlen's words and with infinite care, lowered his gun.

The move surprised Arlen, who began to ease his finger from his own trigger until a sudden burst of movement and noise brought the pistol sweeping back up again.

Arlen did not understand what the salarian was doing at first and his brow creased as the alien's thin body shuddered. After only a few moments, however, the sound of laughter became clear.

'I'm just messings with 'ya, buddy!' the salarian spluttered as he doubled over, 'Man, you really had me goings there, all like 'your armour won't stop this bullets' and stuffs!'

Arlen froze, his jaw wavering in uncertainty.

Sensing his confusion, the salarian straightened and with a deep breath, regained his composure. As if to demonstrate his intent, he spun his weapon around on the ball of his palm, offering it to Arlen in a gesture of surrender.

His other hand reached up to the base of his helmet and with a soft hiss it slid off to reveal a mass of glossy, dark red skin and two large black eyes that glistened wetly as they narrowed. The jaw, wider and stronger than that of any salarian Arlen had ever seen, was painted with three sharp vertical lines that flexed as he smiled, showing flashes of pale yellow teeth.

'Sorry abouts that,' the salarian said, his voice resonating with an unexpected depth - for a salarian, at least - that matched his muscular frame. Arlen frowned as words tumbled inconsistently from the salarian's lips, 'I hads to be sure you were the real deals. Chellick said there'd be two of you after all, and I saw you packs the humans girl off in a shuttles as soon as you got off the transports.'

Arlen sniffed, taking in a lungful of foetid air that did little to calm his racing heart. 'She was...physically unable to come,' he replied carefully, 'You'll meet Detective Keller when we get back to the safe house.'

The salarian nodded and fastened his pistol securely back in its holster. With a crooked grin that seemed too wide for his bulbous head, he offered a hand in greeting, the green panels of his armour glinting as he reached out.

'Then let me introduce myselfs properly. Name's Kotah Olansi, Council Spectres. Good to be working with you, Interceptors.'

Arlen took Olansi's hand and shook it weakly as confusion washed over him. He cast a critical gaze over the Spectre, over the gaudy armour and foolish grin, and he knew he could not bring himself to say the feeling was mutual.


	12. Chapter 12

The crowds had thickened by the time Arlen followed Olansi out of the restroom and immediately, the Spectre forced him into a brisk walk. The salarian's limbs were long and agile, giving him a speed that Arlen struggled to keep up with and his bright green armour - made all the more conspicuous by his unusually broad shoulders - drew distasteful looks from anyone with an eye for such things.

'You sure picked a hell of a times to track down a terrorists on Omega,' he called out over his shoulder, 'Things around here are a little more tense than usuals, and on this stations that's saying something.'

Arlen hurried to draw alongside him, dodging passers-by with every step. 'What do you mean? I thought the mercenaries had a good handle on things here?'

'The mercs?' Olansi scoffed, ignoring the sour glances from the Blue Suns within earshot, 'They only controls the profitable areas, making money from just about everythings they can. Guns running, privates security, charging protections in areas where the peoples have more than two credits to rub togethers; all that goes on under the watchful eyes of Aria T'Loak, the resident crime lords, kingpins, whatever you wants to call her.'

'So if they're the law and order down here, what's the problem?' Arlen asked as he deftly avoided another collision, 'Surely it's better than nothing?'

'Omega is a big places, Interceptors, too big for any one persons to control. Maybe that will change with times but the majority of this places is a cesspools of decay and degradations, without oversight or regulations of any kinds. Why don't the mercs or Aria takes control of the whole places, you ask? Simple - because there's nothing for them to gains. It would cost tens of millions of credits to take the entire stations and even then only after a battles that would costs thousands of lives, leaving the ruling factions weakened beyond any hope of holding onto whats they won. So, why bother fightings for something that ain’t worth the effort?'

Olansi paused and looked at Arlen slyly, a broad smirk creasing his skin. 'I met her once. Aria, I means. Pretty ladies in her own ways, if a little heavy on the dramas. She gave me this nice little speeches, nice little orations, proudly declaring 'I am Omega'. Very entertainings, very scary but the reality is there are some parts of this places that even she doesn't wants.'

'Why are you telling me all this?' Arlen snapped, his patience fraying. The specifics of Omega's social strata did not concern him and he felt the pressing need to busy himself with his mission, if only to take his mind from the company he now kept. He’d already decided he did not like this salarian. Everything, from his outlandish attire to his speech was ridiculous to the point of insanity.

'Know your surroundings, Interceptors,' replied Olansi, 'Here on Omega, that knowledge will saves your life. For examples, I did my homeworks before you arrived. Bithcon Dynamics have a sales kiosks in the black markets of Torkessa District along with sales offices too, most likely with plenty of intels on where your fugitives General Krassus got his toy. Problems is, Torkessa, along with the districts surroundings it, is nothing short of a battlegrounds right now.'

'Battleground? Is there some kind of war going on?'

'If only it was that simples,' Olansi snorted, 'No, this isn't a battles between gangs. This ain't a petty fight for moneys or illegal goods, or the right to calls some shitty streets corners their 'turf'. We're talking about militias run by krogan and vorchas out to takes control of Torkessa by force. We're talkings about batarians press-ganged into anti-humans death squads and slaughterings any they find. Torkessa Districts suffered twenty bombings in the past months alone, bombings of human hab blocks, which then makes the humans gun downs a shuttles full of batarians in retaliation. We're talkings violence and unrests the likes of which you've never known, Interceptors, violence that has gone unchecked and growns worse over many years.'

He grew quiet for a moment and shook his head pitifully. 'On Omega it gets dangerous, but outs there in the slums of Torkessa...it's unforgiving. Not just muggers but militia patrols, not just pickpockets but insurgents prowlings the streets in shuttles with automatic weapons. Aria wants nothings to do with it. She’s content just to lets the fire burn itself out. Even the Blue Suns have barricaded the ground entrances, so the only way ins and outs is by air. You just so happened to picks a time when the local Torkessa warlord is planning a wars with a rival militias and we could ends up walking right into the crossfires unless you knows what you're doing.'

Arlen's mouth hung open for a few seconds and he had to force himself to close it. No one had mentioned any of this to him, not Chellick, not his briefing dossier, not even Lina. They could not have truly known, nor could they have anticipated that Bithcon Dynamics was set up in one of the most violent black markets on Omega. Perhaps Krassus had deliberately timed his attack knowing the company form whom he’d sourced his weapon were soon to be engulfed in a gang war. The thought of setting foot in such a place made Arlen shudder and he silently wondered what other surprises would be store for him.

'I didn't pick the time, the Legion did,' he replied finally, pushing aside his apprehension, 'Whatever comes our way, we'll have to deal with it. I'm not going to let Krassus get away.'

'Well ain't you a dutiful sons of a bitch?' Olansi muttered.

Arlen bristled at the derogatory words and a response was held back only by the thin note of approval in the Spectre's voice.

'Hey, so long as you knows what your chances are goings in. Right now, Torkessa is like a cracks in an FTL drive core. Dangerous enough as it is but it's waitings for one more jolts, one more little bumps before the whole thing blows.'

Lowering his head, Arlen quietly considered everything that had been said. He’d heard of Omega's black markets, its gangs and crime bosses. It was impossible not to hear about the place after leaving boot camp for more than a month and he knew he would be challenged. He could not have imagined the level of hostility Olansi claimed, however and a chill ran down his back at the idea of bringing Keller along to Torkessa. They had come prepared for an investigation, not a war.

'Considering the circumstances, it sounds like we should've brought along a grenade launcher. Maybe even a dreadnought,' he said, trying not to let his nervousness show.

Olansi laughed, his wide shoulders heaving as his chest rose and fell. 'Believe it or not, you'll get a lot furthers with your alias than a big guns. Prospective buyers in the black markets are more treasured and sought afters than a salarian broad and believe me, those reproductions contracts are intense! Nope, the smell of money and power on you will keeps you safer than a whole platoons of mercs.'

Arlen quickly mastered the urge to ask if Olansi was speaking from experience regarding the reproduction contracts and instead pressed the him further, 'Speaking of which, don't Spectres usually carry around heavy firepower for situations like these? I don't see any weapons on you.'

Once more, a loud cackle erupted from Olansi and the salarian had to stop to catch his breath. 'What kinds of vids do you guys watch overs at C-Sec?' he spluttered, wiping his eyes with a finger, 'I mean damn, if it were really like thats, going in all guns blazings, Spectre justice and all then none of us would last five minutes!'

Arlen look away in embarrassment, furious at himself for showing his inexperience.

'Some of them use their own ships and flash their Spectres status likes a god damn member's club card,' Olansi continued, 'but those ones end up deads real quick. Like any other espionage operatives, we makes a lot of powerful enemies and if we publicise ourselves too much it makes us vulnerables. I've been doing this for a long time now and I've only lasted this longs because I blends into the crowds well enough to go unnoticed.'

'With the way you talk, I'm surprised you can manage it,' Arlen muttered. The response was meant only for himself but Olansi smiled at him again, his hearing evidently sharper than Arlen thought.

'What can I says? The right few words can solves problems the way a guns never could. I don't use the translators either, too impersonals. Apologies if my Palaven dialects is a bit off, turian languages are a pains in the ass to pronounce, with the throat thing and all.'

'And _jerk-tits?_ ' Arlen asked sardonically, though his tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

The Spectre's smile widened. 'I sometimes work with pretty...interesting peoples on my assignments, of all species. Sometimes the local vernaculars stick. That one cames from a particular human I worked with, freighter pilots. Enjoyed his company until a batarians slavers blew his head clean off but still, he would've been pleased to hears me continue that ones in his honour.'

Arlen nodded his understanding, even though he did not feel it, and waved away a beggar as they passed through the terminal entrance and out into the street once more.

The shuttles had returned after their first glut of passengers and now stood waiting for the next mass of new arrivals, their thrusters flaring brightly against a pall of smog that had fallen on the thoroughfare. Beyond the edge of the shuttle platform, Arlen saw endless lines of traffic; red and white spots of light stretching between the colossal pillars that comprised the various urban districts of the station. A brilliant white light illuminated the far horizon, a sun without a star, a dark mockery of the synthetic daylight of the Citadel's Presidium.

Turning his head, Arlen listened as the faint, almost ethereal whisper of music echoed through the air. It was a symphony of digitised drum loops and synthesized melodies, yet all strangely soothing. He wondered what club could be so brazen as to pipe its music across the entire city.

'Come on, gets in,' Olansi said as he tapped the roof of a nearby shuttle, 'Hopes you don't minds if I drive. Never trusts a VI with your lifes when you can help it is that I always says.'

The craft rocked gently as they boarded and in only a few seconds they were airborne, racing forward at a speed that Arlen suspected far exceeded the limits allowed for public transport shuttles in Citadel space.

Inside, he eyed the gnarled, twisted marks that had been gouged into the arms of his seat, evidence of vorcha passengers or perhaps even a varren that some krogan had allowed to ride shotgun. Coupled with the obvious tampering of the speed inhibitors, he wondered just how many more miles the battered craft had left in it.

'You...aren't what I expected,' Arlen said suddenly, keen to draw his mind away from a possible fiery death, 'For a Spectre, I mean.'

Again, Olansi grinned mischievously and Arlen began to consider the possibility that he was spawned with that very same, odd expression.

'And what were you expectings?'

'I'm not sure…' the turian moaned, shaking his head slowly. He was aware that his tone was drawing close to whining but he didn't care. He felt betrayed at being forced to team up with a man who seemed little more than a clown and he let his irritation slide from him in a rush.

'Maybe I was expecting someone a little more eloquent? Or professional? Or someone who doesn't wear armour that even an asari dancer wouldn't spit on? Maybe I imagined a Spectre who at least sounds like he's taking all of this seriously?'

The Spectre barked out a short, sharp laugh. 'Eloquents? What do you want, a Spectre or a damn speech writers? Oooh, or maybe a models of high fashions, one with armours that is in seasons! Yes, yes, that'll catch your rogue generals!'

'I don't know!' Arlen bit back, raising his hands in futility, 'I don't know what I want, or what I expected! I just know I didn't know I’d have to work with someone who seems to think this is all a joke!'

He expected a reaction from Olansi - a bitter backlash or an acidic rebuke, at least a huff of indignation. Instead, the Spectre chuckled, a sound that made Arlen grow hot with anger.

'Very well, Mister Interceptors, what do you thinks I should say? Tell me how I should talks.' He paused to glance sideways at Arlen while his fingers twitched at the shuttle's flight controls. 'How should I acts, hm?'

Again, Arlen wrung his hands and a thousand suggestions rushed through his head. As he digested the question, however, each one of them felt hollow in the face of Olansi's easy confidence.

The Spectre stared at Arlen, each second highlighting his expectation of an answer but as irritated as Arlen was, he knew he could not give one. The seconds slowly passed in silence, until Arlen began to feel increasingly foolish. He had no idea what a Spectre was supposed to be like, only preconceptions and every one of those had come back to haunt him since stepping into Pallin's office the previous morning.

'Hey, relax, man!' Olansi laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, 'You thinks _you're_ confused? You should have seen the Council's faces! They thought it was an administrative errors! Can you imagines? A Spectre getting in on a damn paperworks blunder?'

He broke into another heaving fit, his voice squeaking slightly as he grew short of breath. Arlen could only glower at him sullenly, unable to see the humour in the situation.

' _Is_ that how you got in?' he asked.

'Me? No, I worked STG for nearly ten years, and that’s a long times for a salarian. Gots a recommendations from the unit commanders himself.' Olansi raised a finger and gently tapped the side of his nose. 'All you needs to know is that Spectres are not trained; they're chosen and every single one is chosen for a reasons.'

Arlen exhaled, his frustration expelled in a single, hot gust of air from his nostril slits. 'So in other words, you're not going to tell me?'

'Not at all,' Olansi answered and his voice lowered into a serious tone, 'I'm merely sayings you don't wants to know.'

As he stared out of the shuttle window, Arlen flexed his mandibles. His entire body was wracked with tension and his hands curled unconsciously into fists on his lap. There was nothing he could do and he focused instead on watching Omega pass by his window.

The journey did not take long, despite the uncomfortable silence that fell on the pair. The speed of the shuttle, coupled with Omega's relative lack of traffic laws allowed them to cruise quickly and comfortably, with only the occasional need to swerve around an abandoned or wrecked car. The small craft finally entered a large, wide cylindrical complex, one that was evidently better maintained than the vast majority of residential centres they’d passed during their flight.

Arlen stepped out and took deep, grateful draughts of the well-cleansed air as he looked around at the street before him. It was still the same dirty, rust-coloured metal that paved the walkways and the same filth-encrusted walls but here a thin smattering of men and women strolled calmly, all well dressed and most speaking loudly into their omni-tools.

 _Looks like there’s a wealthy section of Omega's society after all,_ he mused, though he could not miss the exceptionally well-armed bodyguards watching over these affluent citizens. Large banks of neon signs illuminated one side of the street, loudly declaring words in a native language Arlen did not recognise and the liquid colour played on the mercs’ armour, edging them with red, orange and green.

Olansi slid from the pilot's seat and tutted. 'No valets? I'm shocked,' he said, nodding in the direction of the ambling figures, 'Arms and sand dealers for the most parts, in case you’re wonderings. This districts is a nice place for them to works out their deals and contracts, away from the risks and stenches of the black markets. Security courtesy of Aria T'Loak. She spares no expenses to safeguards people bringing money into the stations. Even if they don't buy anythings from her directly, the cash ends up in her hands eventually, one ways or another.'

They walked confidently along the wide causeway, ignoring the uneasy glances they drew as they went. It was clear even the powerful on Omega did not let down their guards, not even when they could call themselves safe.

Their destination was nestled in a large habitation block, with long windows that shimmered darkly, as if coated with a material that absorbed the very light itself. Arlen supposed it was intentional, most likely to stop anyone peering too closely into the apartments. His suspicions were confirmed as they passed through a vault-like front entrance, where a grim mercenary operated a scanning device that bathed the pair in a cascade of blue light.

Before long, the scanner chimed its approval and the merc nodded them on. Arlen knew better than to ask why they were allowed to keep their weapons.

'All rights,' Olansi yawned as they approached a sturdy door, one of many set into the long, featureless corridor, 'Your apartments is next door, I believe, yes? I'll meets you outsides at no later than oh-six-hundred, got it?'

'Got it,' Arlen agreed, 'Are we heading straight to Torkessa?'

'Sure are! After all, we could ends up trailing around half of Omega before the days ends so we might as well starts early! Till then, sleeps tight!'

The sentiment was lost on Arlen, who merely nodded a farewell and turned away from the door as it slammed shut. The corridor loomed around him, silent and still.

The young turian sighed deeply as he made his way to the next apartment, unsure of what to think. A part of him reviled Olansi and could not ignore the prickling annoyance he felt whenever the Spectre spoke, and yet he also remembered what was said in the shuttle. Every Spectre was indeed chosen for a reason and he had to trust that Olansi had his own.

 _Whatever it is,_ Arlen thought with a slow shake of his head, _it’s well-concealed._

As he neared the apartment door he pressed a thumb into the lock, wincing as pressure was applied.

'DNA confirmed. Welcome, Mister Anaxis,' the door warbled in a light, welcoming tone. It was an oddly polite thing to hear in a place like Omega but at least his cover identity was working.

The apartment was large and spacious and nothing moved as the lights flickered on with Arlen’s entry.

‘Detective?’ he called out, hoping Keller felt better enough to respond.

No answer came. Arlen froze and his hand drifted to the Striker at his hip. ‘Detective Keller, are you all right?’

Perhaps she was asleep, or had stepped out for some fresh air. Arlen shook his head at the idea. There was no such thing as fresh air on Omega and even from the little he knew about her, he doubted she would allow herself to sleep so soon after arriving.

He remained motionless, his senses straining for some sign Keller was around. A sound rattled and something shuffled from somewhere further in. It was not an air vent or passing vehicle, of that Arlen was certain and he slowly drew his pistol, thumbing the safety button instinctively.

‘Detective, are you there? Please answer me,’ he said as he crept forward.

A clatter rose from beyond the living area, toward the back of the apartment. Arlen moved fluidly now, crossing one foot over the other in perfect balance as he made his way to a closed door, his Striker stretched out before his eyes like an extension of his own arm.

The sound of muffled footsteps was unmistakable as they thudded on the other side of the door and Arlen took a sharp intake of breath before opening it.

He burst into the room, his face immediately assaulted with a blast of heat and moisture. A noise erupted only a few feet in front of him, a terrified scream, and his pistol sights fell over a familiar face.

Keller scrambled frantically to reach for her towel as the shower pounded against her hard, tanned body, and her other hand curled around the pistol beneath it until she saw who it was.

Arlen and Keller stared at one another, dumbfounded as steam swirled around the bathroom, desperate to escape through the open door. Only the rush of hot water filled the air and, after several long, painful seconds the turian lowered his weapon and used his free hand to cover his eyes.

'I'm sorry!' he cried, turning his head, 'I thought you were someone else! I thought somebody broke into the apartment!'

Keller's voice clashed with his own, 'God damn it, you scared the shit 'outta me, Arlen! What the hell were you thinking?'

Apologies continued to tumble from Arlen's lips as he backed out from the room and closed the door. He sank back, halfway between laughing incredulously and grimacing in humiliation. His body trembled furiously and his breath came in great, heaving gouts. He had not thought the sight of a naked human would affect him in the slightest and yet, he felt his skin flush with intense, sudden heat.

 _It was the steam,_ he told himself resolutely. It could only be the steam.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Delanynder hovered gracefully, his body rippling with every small movement to display a vivid and constantly shifting canvas of deep pinks and purples.

Despite his serene appearance, however, the hanar seethed with anger and bitterness. His exclusive Presidium store, his Emporium, had been invaded once again by the same pair of C-Sec officers that had seen fit to harass and extort him mercilessly and consistently for the past year. He did not know why they had come again, nor did he know why they had grown more threatening this time around.

'This one has already paid the fee you desired,' he said again, his voice rising airily as his soft, fleshy mass glowed faintly in unison with each syllable, 'It does not see why you feel you must return here. Surely the amount was sufficient?'

The salarian C-Sec officer smiled wickedly, baring dirty teeth, an ugly colour that clashed with his pale green skin. When he spoke, his voice was thin and snide, a tone that perfectly suited his disposition.

'Oh, Delan, that's an awful thing to say! You make it sound like me and Officer Brasca over there are only interested in one thing!'

He inclined his head to where his turian partner stood against the wall at the Emporium's entrance, arms folded and dull grey face staring out balefully across the Presidium.

'I mean come on, there's more to our friendship than credits, surely? After all, what other C-Sec officers would accept such a small, paltry sum for the extensive protection my partner and I offer, huh?'

Delanynder hated Officer Yaro with a passion he barely thought himself capable of mustering. The officer's every word oozed from his mouth with a thick air of disdain, an arrogance that Delanynder would have found intolerable even if Yaro had not seen fit to shake down his store every month.

'This one sees nothing to protect the Emporium from in such a location as the Presidium,' Delanynder replied, 'As a matter of fact, it has only encountered trouble from yourself and Officer Brasca. The fee you force from it is reasonable enough to stop you bothering this one and its customers, but this latest intrusion is most unappreciated; and unwelcome.'

Yaro's fleshy lips parted again to reveal his crooked teeth. 'Oh I'll tell you what you need protection from, though I think C-Sec would be far more interested in hearing it, what do you think?'

'This one cannot allow such things to be known!' Delanynder said quickly as his calm facade broke, 'This one apologises profusely, it will listen to what you have to say!'

'That's better,' Yaro replied happily and raised his hand to pat the hanar on its writhing flank. The contact sent a wave of colour through Delanynder and the air around him pulsed with a soft light, as if an impulse to cry out was suddenly suppressed.

'So,' Yaro began, forcing the hanar to move as he started to stroll across the length of the store, 'as I was saying, Officer Brasca and I just need to use your back room for a little while. Well, to be more specific, we need to use the mainframe in your back room. We both know you don't keep much stock back there and we'll only drop by a couple of times a week at the most to check on things.'

Delanynder did not like where this was going. 'To what end do you require this one's mainframe? Its accounts are stored on a separate-'

Yaro laughed aloud and slapped the hanar on its side in jest, again provoking a flare of barely-mastered anger.

'Delan,' he chuckled hoarsely, 'what did I tell you? This isn't about credits! I just need to use the old girl for a few months is all. As for why, well, it's probably best you don't know. Ignorance is bliss and all that.'

Easing himself away from the smirking salarian, Delanynder moved slowly toward the passage that led to the store's back room.

'It will ready the mainframe for access,' he said resignedly before disappearing from view.

Yaro grinned, unable to conceal his pleasure. The dumb jelly had always been easy to manipulate and for a moment he wondered what it was that Delanynder truly feared C-Sec might discover. It was something more damning than the breach of his zoning permit, he was certain. Whatever it was, that fear served Yaro perfectly and he felt light on his feet as he approached Brasca.

Turning to face him, the gruff turian jerked his head towards the back of the store. 'I take it we're in?'

'You know it!' Yaro responded gleefully, rubbing his hands together in delight, 'A whole mainframe to ourselves, plenty of locations to route the siphon through, it's all good, baby!'

'You picked the machine yet?' Brasca asked with a grunt as he prised himself stiffly from the wall.

'Sure have. There's a nice target in the back of Flux, that new place run by that volus Dhoren. Or was Dhalen? Eh, I forget,' Yaro muttered, waving a hand, 'Anyway, it's this one machine where all the cheaters go to try out their latest gizmos and when they fail, that's where all their credits are sunk. Once we set everything up here, all we have to do is sit back and watch the cash roll in.'

They stopped at the end of the passage Delanynder had taken and stood at either side of the entrance, Brasca folding his arms in his typically dominating posture.

Yaro was well aware of - and had come to rely heavily upon - his partner’s proficiency in intimidation. Brasca’s face was broad and bore none of the markings his species were famous for. Though Yaro knew the turian would not admit it, Brasca enjoyed the fearful superstition being 'barefaced' provoked among his own kind.

'I still don't get it,' Brasca growled as he looked down the darkened corridor, 'Why this mainframe in particular? Why not some service terminal out in the wards where nobody'd ever think to look?'

Yaro shook his head and steeled himself to explain the process yet again.

'It's simple,' the salarian said, holding his hands up to articulate his points with small, patronising gestures, 'For one, this is the _Presidium_ , the last place anyone would look for a credit scam. Second...look, why am I explaining all this again? I already told you like seven times already!'

'I don't know.' Brasca shrugged and took out a small white carton. 'It's all a little too complicated for me. You know by now I like things to be kept small and simple.'

Yaro narrowed his eyes in irritation as Brasca produced a cigarette from the packet and placed one delicately between his blade-like lips. It had taken years of practice and several bouts of vomiting before he’d found the knack of enjoying the very human vice but the sensation, he claimed, was unlike any other.

' _You're_ small and simple,' Yaro murmured, shaking his head.

Brasca merely winked and a slow smile curled the corners of his mouth, bringing his mandibles out in a smirking expression.

'One more time then,' Yaro continued as he held up a small Optical Storage Disc, 'This OSD contains something very advanced and very illegal, a VI that was purpose-built for precisely this kind of operation. This mainframe is the only one with a big enough storage capacity that can't be traced back to us at C-Sec. We've established all the connections, all we need to do is install the VI and watch it go. We'll be mingling with the rich and famous on Illium before you know it!'

Brasca snorted sceptically. He had heard this before, far too many times to count. 'Where did you get this 'VI'?' he asked, the words muffled by the unlit cigarette, 'The last time you paid for a VI we ended up spreading a damn viral ad through diplomatic servers, you remember that? Do you remember all the ambassadors complaining about the genital transplant offers they got on their terminals every day for a month?'

Yaro waved a hand. 'Don't worry about it, this one's totally legit. It's from a friend over in JSTF. Network booked it into evidence a while back.'

'JSTF?' Brasca repeated warily. Concern etched his features as he lit his cigarette, sending a thick plume of smoke into the air. 'You sure that's a good idea? Knowing those spooks, it's probably a sting operation or something to try and catch us in the act.'

'Brasca my friend, while I'm flattered that you believe us to be worthy of even a second of their time, I think you'll find they're too busy chasing terrorists to take any interest in little ol' us. No, it's just something they came into possession of is all, and we're simply making better use of it than letting it gather dust in an evidence locker.'

Brasca grunted coarsely and turned his head as he propped himself against the wall once again. 'Well, I don't like it. If JSTF found it then it's something even Special Response won't touch. I don't know how Network got involved but if I were you, I'd scare the hanar into coughing up some more creds and get the hell out of here.'

'Oh, so you don't want to be rolling in cash this time next month?' Yaro bit back adamantly, 'You'd rather stay here bullying kiosk traders your whole life? Well, be my guest buddy, I won't stop ‘ya. You just go on back down to your crappy little office in Zakera and get chewed out by the captain because you didn't file that pointless report again. If that's the kind of life you want to live then I won't hold it against 'ya. Just don't expect me to wait around when the moolah starts pouring in.'

Yaro's reedy voice hung in the air for a few moments before the quiet calm of the Presidium dropped upon them like a stone, stretching out the seconds. Finally, Brasca sighed and ran a weary hand across his face.

'Fine. But I'm holding you personally responsible for what happens here. If it all goes to shit then I get to say 'I told you so', all right?'

'That's not 'gonna happen,' Yaro replied confidently, 'The source is someone I trust and hell, if this VI can do even half of what he says then it'll be fur-lined, thresher-skinned boots from here on out.'

Brasca clasped his cigarette between two fingers and chuckled huskily. 'Thresher-skin boots, huh? Well I hope so, because if this goes wrong then they'll be feeding us to a damn thresher maw, no doubt about that.'

As Yaro was about to reply, Delanynder reemerged, his body shifting with anxious ripples. 'This one has done what you have asked,' he said plaintively, 'The password can be set once access has been gained.'

'Why, thank you, Delan,' Yaro replied happily. With a flick of the wrist, the salarian gestured to Brasca. 'I'll be a few minutes back there so, if you wouldn't mind, please pick out something nice for Officer Brasca. I think he needs a new omni-tool, isn't that right, buddy?'

Brasca nodded cagily and spoke slowly, his every word dripping with malice, 'I could _definitely_ use a new omni-tool.'

The merchant seemed to quail at Brasca's threat and quickly led the officer away. Yaro watched them go before heading to the back room, his face alight with a twisted smile that he knew would remain for many hours.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The large room was thick with tension. It clung to the various seated figures, despite the peaceful scene beyond the balcony encompassing the rear wall. The Presidium's lakes and fountains, glittering marvels of Prothean engineering, did nothing to alleviate the antagonistic atmosphere that had engulfed the embassy conference area. 

Chellick ground his teeth silently as the pressure mounted. He’d done his part. He had delivered the facts evenly and defended both the performances of his team and himself in dealing with the Forgotten Legion's attack, and the questions thrown his way had not been gentle.

Executor Pallin sat beside him, a calm and solid presence as his deep voice slid from his throat, 'This is getting us nowhere, Ambassador. We've told you everything we've discovered about the attack and its perpetrators, as well as the progress of our team on Omega. We've all been perfectly honest with you thus far but your confrontational attitude is bordering on insulting.'

'Insulting?'

Donnell Udina was an older human than most Chellick had worked with. The ambassador's skin was dark, stretched thin across bony cheeks and a lean, wiry frame.

'Insulting?' Udina repeated quietly, his tone tinged with anger, 'A human ship is attacked as it enters the Citadel and over one thousand human lives are lost at the hands of a turian warship. Is that not an insult?'

Udina paused and stared across the meeting table, holding both turians with brown eyes that shone with bitterness. His voice grew louder, 'We request to launch our own independent investigation into the matter and are told that we may not. Is _that_ not an insult?'

Holding his gaze, Pallin did not flinch as the ambassador rose to his feet and slammed a palm on the table, his voice rising into a furious roar, 'And when I ask for an explanation, the Council refuses to meet me in person and instead send you, a pair of errand boys, to tell me what I already know? Is _that_ not an insult?'

After a few long moments, calm settled on the room and Udina lowered himself back into his seat, his eyes fixed on the turians.

Pallin replied calmly, 'The decision to send Commander Chellick and myself was only logical. We're the people best placed to give you the information you need. I understand your frustration, Ambassador but events won't move any faster just because you want them to. Quite the opposite, in fact. In order for us to find and apprehend General Krassus and the Legion as quickly as possible, we need to be able to do our jobs without resistance or interference. You know as well as I that human soldiers in turian space would be disastrous to our efforts, and would only serve to drive Krassus deeper underground. Furthermore, the political instability it could cause would shore up support for his organisation, both domestic and military.'

'That's no excuse for ignoring our right to justice!' Udina argued, 'If we had destroyed a turian ship, the Citadel Fleet would be crawling over Sol and Arcturus as we speak!'

Pallin narrowed his eyes and his response was hard, 'The situation can't even begin to be compared, Ambassador. We are a _Council_ race. The loss of one of our ships would provoke action beyond your imagining. Your kind have already been granted a number of concessions simply through this meeting, concessions I doubt even the volus would enjoy. There are strict intergalactic considerations at play here, considerations that make a thousand lives - human or otherwise - utterly insignificant. If a second war were to erupt between our species, then what? You'd see thousands more lives lost because of your own impatience?'

'You're not the only one who has political implications to consider, Executor.' Udina lowered his voice, an odd twitch of worry passing over his features. 'I am facing...difficult questions. The Systems Alliance exists to safeguard humanity's interests throughout the galaxy and if something disturbs those interests then I am seen to not be doing my job.'

 _So that's it,_ Chellick thought amusedly and he found himself unable to contain his thoughts.

'So, this is about you looking bad, Ambassador?'

Udina glared at him as if his speaking were an unwanted intrusion. 'This is about those in the Alliance who would jump to their own conclusions about the incident and my efforts to stop them taking their own courses of action. I would also advise you to watch your tone, Commander. Your future in particular rests on what happens over the next few days.'

'He's right,' Pallin murmured at Chellick’s side. The executor was not angry at the interruption but his expression made it perfectly clear that he did not want to fuel Udina's temper any further. 'You've done your part, Commander, now let me do mine.' 

Suppressing a surge of frustration, Chellick turned his eyes back to the human. Udina's expression had grown dark and his eyes searched relentlessly for weakness. Chellick did not doubt the ambassador was well-versed in reading people and turning nuances of behaviour to his advantage. It was a quality Chellick would admire if the ambassador himself were not so easy to interpret. As it stood, his own rage was evident in his mottled skin and incandescent gaze and Chellick secretly ached to be in Pallin's seat, if only to take the arrogant politician apart piece by piece.

Pallin's white markings grew brighter for a moment as he tilted his head. 'You've made a lot of our unwillingness to help you, Ambassador, and yet you've also been holding something back from us, haven't you?'

'I don't know what you mean,' Udina answered coldly.

'The Jamestown was a chartered flight that passed through your Gagarin Station, or Jump Zero, as you prefer to call it. All the evidence we have indicates the ship's navigation computer was tampered with and the only reasonable assumption we can make is that it was done during standard pre-flight maintenance when they stopped at that station.'

'What is your point, Executor?'

'My point,' Pallin replied forcefully, 'is that when JSTF tried to contact Jump Zero for information - staff records, shift rotas and the like - they were repeatedly denied access.'

Udina narrowed his gaze. 'Jump Zero is a research facility. That information is classified.'

'That information,' Pallin responded, leaning forward in his seat, 'is vital to the course of our investigation. It's clear there is a link between Jump Zero and the Jamestown attack and unless we discover what that link is, all we have is the lead our agents are currently chasing.'

It was obvious to Chellick what had happened to the Jump Zero evidence. The humans were running their own line of investigation into the incident and he doubted they would release any information to the Council, even after it had long since been picked clean. The entire affair was beginning to resemble two schaffa in mating reason, and the image of two rutting males butting their heads was hard to dislodge as Chellick’s eyes passed between Pallin and Udina.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Udina shook his head. 'This is becoming a waste of my time. If you have no further information then I suggest we draw this meeting to a close. You know where my office is should you wish to share any news you might receive.'

Pallin and Chellick rose in unison and the Executor's farewell was laced with forced cordiality, 'On behalf of the Citadel Council, I thank you for your patience in this, Ambassador. I hope that our promise to release any new information to you will be returned in kind.'

Udina merely nodded and kept his hostile gaze on the turians until they disappeared from view. The quiet of the Presidium fell once again, dispelling the hostile air of moments before and once he was certain they were alone, Udina turned to one of his silent companions.

'Summon the major to my office,' he murmured softly, 'Tell him we must move now if we are to gain the upper hand.'


	13. Chapter 13

Lina stretched out in her chair, unable to contain her relief as she sighed quietly. Arching her back, she raised her arms into the air with her fingers interlocked, wincing as a twinge rippled through her left shoulder.

She tried to remember the moment she'd first arrived at the command centre the previous morning, before the chaos of the Legion attack had unfolded.

They had all expected the Alliance talks to go ahead with only a minimum of disruption and some had been idly discussing the possibility of grabbing drinks after their shift. Had it only been twenty-six hours since? She supposed it had, though it felt like an eternity had passed.

The night had drawn out as she continued to work, her team disappearing one by one as exhaustion claimed them, and only the arrival of a fresh and rested Milo made Lina suddenly aware that she was the only one who had not yet slept.

The stretching barely helped, waking up her mind only for it to crash back into dull listlessness mere seconds later. The colours of her terminal screen swam hazily, running into one another like drops of lurid water. She tried to blink the drowsiness from her eyes but it would not budge, and for a brief time she simply stared ahead, willing her stubborn mind to sharpen again and allow her at least another hour of focus.

The soft shuffle of footsteps snatched her attention and she smiled beneath her helmet at the sight of Garrus holding a cup of water. She could tell it was enticingly cold and fresh by the beads of moisture quivering on the cup’s side.

‘Thought you could use something to take the edge off,’ he explained, lifting the cup slightly, ‘Sorry I couldn't get you anything stronger. They don't have any dextro-based coffee here yet. Not that I'm surprised, my kind haven't quite gotten used to the taste of the stuff yet.’

‘Thanks, this will do nicely,’ Lina replied gratefully as she thumbed the catch to her helmet's external valve.

Quarian suits usually had a built-in straw to take in liquids but the one C-Sec had provided her with had an airlock-style system that filtered out contaminants and even added a small amount of disinfectant to the drink, a level of sophistication she had no doubt would create a buzz of excitement back on the Flotilla. Not that she had any inclination to tell them.

With infinite care she poured the water in and immediately felt a cool wave pass through her body, tingling her senses and clearing the fog from her mind. She nodded in appreciation, pleased to regain some clarity, no matter how little.

‘Better?’ Garrus asked, a grin spreading his mandibles.

Lina shook her head. ‘Hard to say. Nothing feels real right now, like I'm day dreaming. Or maybe I'm dreaming for real, I can't tell.’

‘So why don't you get some sleep? You've earned it after a day like yesterday.’

‘I don't know,’ she answered lazily, ‘Arlen reported in an hour ago, said he'd linked up with the Spectre and was about to check out Bithcon Dynamics. So, of course, I stayed up a little longer to see what I could dig up on the local extranet but…’

‘But you got side tracked after that?’ Garrus finished.

‘I can't help it,’ she moaned, ‘I've got a million things to do and time's always short, always ticking away. As soon as I’m done with one task another pops up without warning.’

‘It's the nature of the job but that doesn't mean you have to burn yourself out. You won't be any good to anyone that way. Why don't you grab a nap? I'll watch over the section for a few hours.’

Lina tensed. It was true that her body had long since grown sluggish and even now her voice had gained a slurry quality that she detested. Still, she was reluctant to simply hand over her work, not when so much still needed to be uncovered. The virus analysis was not yet complete and even though she had other things to occupy herself with, she could not help but steal expectant glances at the research terminal at regular intervals, as if doing so would rush the analysis into completion.

‘I'll be fine,’ the quarian said finally.

‘Suit yourself.’ Garrus hesitated, his lips playing with his next words. ‘How's Arlen doing over there?’

‘He's knee-deep in the worst of Omega. Bithcon set up shop in one of the worst districts, a real war zone by the sounds of it. I’ve read the report he sent over a dozen times already and I still can’t believe it. Militias, warlords, bombings, it’s hard to accept such a place exists any more outside the krogan DMZ.’

‘I almost wish I was there with him,’ Garrus replied distantly, ‘Not that I'm worried about Arlen. He's a good kid, a little green but his instincts are sound. I’m just thinking of all the scum allowed to run loose in a place like that, without laws or restraint. Give me a few months and I could clean up that mess.’

Lina tilted her head, the quarian equivalent of cocking an eyebrow. ‘You mean you'd run around with that rifle of yours like a damned lunatic.’

‘Well,’ Garrus shrugged, ‘not a lunatic exactly, but all the rules and regulations of the Citadel wouldn't apply to Omega. They couldn’t apply, not in a place like that. Harsh action would be needed to deal with problems and I'd be free to handle those problems exactly how I want. No due process, no warrants, just clear, decisive action.’

‘You’re talking about vigilantism,’ Lina retorted, ‘I’ve heard you talk about this before, Garrus and you always say the same thing. Omega’s too big a place for one man to take on and besides, you’re simply replacing one kind of thuggery with another. It wouldn’t work, not in the long run.’

Lina paused. Garrus seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if the mention of Omega had turned the wheels of his mind.

She sighed and leaned over her desk to prop her chin on a hand. As fond as she was of Garrus, she had to suppress a shudder at the thought of him running loose on with nothing but a rifle and enthusiasm. It was something that seemed to appeal to him more and more since his ordeal with Doctor Saleon not long ago.

It was with relief that Lina saw Chellick enter the command centre and immediately, he locked eyes on the pair. Garrus set his jaw as their commander made his way over to them, his expression unreadable.

‘Lina, can you excuse us?’ Chellick asked smoothly, ‘Go take a nap in the common room if you must, even with the suit I can see you're tired as hell.’

The quarian leaned forward to object, but something in Chellick’s eyes stopped her. Meekly, she rose from her chair and locked her terminal. Her body swayed slightly, grateful for the rest it would soon receive and she cast a final, silent glance at the turians as the growing noise of the command centre washed over her.

 _Perhaps just an hour or so_ , she thought to herself sleepily, just enough to keep her sharp.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Garrus watched Lina leave and smiled tightly. The quarian would have worked herself into oblivion if he'd let her. The smile disappeared as he noticed Chellick was still staring at him with a pleased expression.

‘What’re you so happy about?’ Garrus asked suspiciously.

Chellick did not answer immediately, content instead to sweep his gaze over their team. Garrus could only wonder what had happened to give the commander such satisfaction, and yet part of him didn’t want to know.

Finally, Chellick turned his eyes back to Garrus.

‘Come with me.’

Garrus was not given a chance to reply. Immediately, he was forced into a brisk walk as Chellick wove between desks and the agents and analysts milling around them. A sickly feeling lodged itself in Garrus’ stomach as he recounted the debt he’d been forced to accept the previous day. It was a fair consequence of his actions, he reasoned, though the whole sordid affair made a move to Omega even more palatable.

They eventually came out of the open area into a corridor, barely lit by the small spotlights dotting its length. Doors marked every few feet, leading to server rooms, storage units, the very bowels of JSTF itself.

Chellick stopped abruptly at a door labelled 'PCT Centre'. Private Comms Traffic. It was where the most vital, top-secret information was decoded, decrypted and prepared for reports to the highest echelons of C-Sec and the Citadel Fleet. It was not a place in which Garrus was authorised to be.

The door moved aside to reveal a room that was dark, almost pitch-black, save for the soft glow of a set of terminals at the far end. No one stood watch, which instantly struck Garrus as odd.

‘I've dismissed Anders and Patravias to get some refreshment,’ Chellick said, guessing his thoughts, ‘They won't take long but then again, neither will this.’ He picked up a datapad, unseen in the inky darkness until that moment. ‘Ambassador Udina wants to play hardball. He's hiding something that may be crucial to our investigation, all because we won't let the Alliance run amok in Citadel space.’

‘Can you blame him?’ Garrus asked sarcastically.

‘Not in the slightest,’ Chellick replied, ‘but that's not my concern. As it stands, JSTF is officially leading the investigation into the Legion attack and I don't appreciate being prevented from doing my job.’

 _Like you prevented me doing mine?_ Garrus thought, bitterly recalling how Chellick had blocked his order to destroy Saleon.

‘Withholding evidence alone would be enough to bring sanctions down on the Alliance,’ Chellick continued, ‘perhaps even ruin their candidacy for Council membership. At least very least I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. No good detective would.’

‘What's any of this got to do with me?’ Garrus snapped, his temper fraying.

Chellick's lips parted to reveal sharp teeth. ‘You're going to find that evidence for me, Garrus. You're going to break into Ambassador Udina's office and tear that information right out of his terminal. You're also going to plant a remote observation worm directly into the embassy servers, so we can keep a close eye on what the humans decide is or isn’t important enough to share with us.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Garrus hissed, his eyes wide, ‘Do you realise what'll happen if I get caught?’

‘Of course,’ Chellick responded smugly, ‘but you're not going to get caught. Are you?’

The last two words dripped with malice and Garrus felt his stomach tighten further. This was it, he realised. He was to be Chellick's pawn and nothing more, to be used in his games of politics and intrigue. If Garrus was discovered, Chellick would release the evidence of I'Layna Naris' killing and with Garrus’ credibility in tatters, no one would listen to anything he had to say.

He ground his teeth in impotent fury and clenched his fists at his side. ‘So, after all this, you're just using me to do your dirty work?’

‘Oh come now, Garrus,’ Chellick replied as he thrust the datapad into his grasp, ‘You talk like what you're doing isn't important. In a way, you're more valuable to me than any of those people out there. I'd certainly be very sad to lose you.’

‘I'm sure,’ Garrus replied as he looked down at the datapad. The screen responded to his touch and he cycled through a list of files, mostly executables.

‘The one you need is Mantius-Twenty-Three,’ Chellick clarified, ‘Transfer it to your omni-tool and hand it to Anders when you're done.’

The door opened to allow the comparatively bright light of the corridor to spill into the room, making Garrus wince.

Chellick grinned as two human officers stepped inside, each with a steaming cup of coffee in their hands. ‘Ah, speak of the devil. Agent Anders, please escort Agent Vakarian out once he's finished. His presence here is an exception, given his clearance level.’

One of the officers, a thin man with olive skin, nodded and Garrus glowered at him resentfully. Chellick's grin remained as he made his way from the room, Garrus’ baleful glare following him all the way.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Udina's desk was clean, the surface gleaming in the Presidium's false sunlight. Upon it sat a lone terminal and little else, no ornament or pictures of loved ones. It was as stark and serious as Udina himself.

The ambassador sat behind it, his chin nestled thoughtfully in his hand as he stared at the man he’d summoned to the office, considering him carefully.

‘I've called you here because we are facing a crisis, Major,’ Udina said finally, ‘You and your unit have been personally recommended to me by Rear Admiral Mikhailovich of the Fifth Fleet. He speaks very highly of you.’

Major Alexei Dukov was a hard man, despite his advancing years. It was written into his body language and physique, the very way he held himself. His white hair was shaved almost to the skull above a neck that seemed impossibly thick with muscle, as was the rest of his body, one that had grown strong in a life of war. None of his thoughts were reflected in his dull grey eyes as he looked at Udina impassively.

‘I worked under him while serving on the Perugia during the Blitz,’ Dukov answered, his voice coarse and heavily accented, ‘A hard fight, but the batarians were no match for us.’

‘I've read the reports. Seven high-profile missions, one of which took place on Torfan. Compared to some of the other teams assigned to take the moon, I see you sustained minimal casualties.’

‘That is correct, Sir.’

‘You also managed to achieve every one of your objectives before moving on to help a struggling platoon of marines meet theirs.’

‘Also correct, Sir.’

‘And how was it that you were able to perform such miracles? Everyone else on Torfan describes it as little more than a bloodbath,’ Udina asked, fastening him with a questioning look. It was one he normally reserved for people who were hiding something and, though he knew that the after-action reports for Torfan were nothing if not accurate, he could not help but probe Dukov a little.

A hint of accusation was always enough to test a man, to find a measure of his true character. For some reason, he found himself irritated when Dukov merely shrugged.

‘The reason is simple, Sir. My men were superior to any of those found on Torfan that day and they proved it. I am not an easy man to work for. I've always demanded everything from those in my charge but in return, I make every man and woman in my unit a thing of metal - unbreakable. I train them to withstand every torment an enemy could possibly inflict upon them, in ways they don't teach in the academies. I put my people through things that made Torfan seem a picnic in comparison, trained them until even the worst realities are simply repeats of exercises that came before. That is why those same men and women are with me even now, even when they had plenty of chance to retire to easier, softer lives.’

Udina nodded slowly and shuffled a little in his chair, his brow twitching. He was used to the company of Alliance officers but Dukov's raw, battle-tempered demeanour made him nervous, as if the man himself radiated menace.

Quickly, he masked his discomfort and smiled. ‘It may be that you are just what we need.’

He gestured for Dukov but the major shook his head slightly.

‘I'd prefer to stand,’ he explained.

Udina was forced to consent, and he wondered if Dukov was testing him in turn. The position gave Dukov a chance to look down on him and Udina strongly suspected the move was intentional as he felt major's eyes bore into him forcefully.

‘No doubt you have heard by now of the attack on the SV Jamestown?’ he began, waiting for Dukov's nod before continuing, ‘The attack was carried out by a rogue turian general named Jardan Krassus. His organisation, known as the Forgotten Legion, is pursuing a vendetta against humanity that extends all the way back to the First Contact War. We believe he will continue his campaign of violence unless he is captured and brought to justice.’

Dukov arched his eyebrows a fraction in surprise. ‘Do we have any leads? Any intel?’

‘All the information you need can be found here,’ Udina replied and tossed him a datapad.

The major caught it cleanly and read through it, his brow creasing gently as he took in as much as he could.

Udina spoke again, if only to fill the ominous silence, ‘I cannot say too much. Obviously, we are on the Citadel and I don't know how many ears the Council has in the Presidium. All I will say is that we may have discovered our leak in Jump Zero. A turian contractor was hired to help maintain all ships going through last month. We believe our terrorist may have hacked the Jamestown's navigation VI during its brief stop at the station.’

‘Do the Council know about this?’ Dukov asked, raising his eyes from the datapad.

‘No,’ Udina replied icily, ‘I had the evidence removed as soon as it became apparent the Council were unwilling to let us handle the investigation into the attack. I am a reasonable man, Major but a Council-led investigation will result only in procrastination, if not downright inaction. There are far too many sympathisers in the turian camp for us to be sure they will handle this fairly, and if they will not work with us then they are against us. I will _not_ allow Krassus to be coddled by a turian or asari judge and allowed an honourable punishment. He has killed our people, Major. I want him brought before us to be disgraced and humiliated like the terrorist he is, then locked away out of the Council's sight.’

‘If the Terra Firma party get wind of this, it could generate a lot of political capital for them,’ Dukov responded, nodding gently in agreement, ‘Not to mention Cerberus. Rumours are they've gone off the grid, possibly even rogue, much like this General Krassus himself. If they take it upon themselves to retaliate then things could get messy.’

‘I'm glad to see that you understand the situation,’ Udina said with some satisfaction, ‘Our only option is to handle this ourselves. After all, your unit was formed to take on tasks of this nature. You are all aware, of course, that if you are captured we must disavow all knowledge of your identities. As far as the Alliance is concerned, you and your team are pirates and mercenaries. You have no ties to us, and there will be no aid for you if you are captured.’

‘That won't be necessary,’ Dukov answered without hesitation, ‘If the worst should happen then every man knows what to do. The Corsairs complete their mission, or die trying.’

Udina allowed himself a small grin. He had done well finding such a man and it was easy to feel confident under Dukov's cool stare. The major had the air of one who rarely tasted failure - though without the brash arrogance of someone who believed he never would. More than that, he was an asset in the truest sense of the word. The Corsairs were akin to sanctioned privateers; deniable and utterly expendable. Even if his mission met with disaster, there would be no political fallout to reflect poorly on the ambassador.

Despite the consequences of failure, Dukov was a professional through and through, and men like him were what the Alliance needed to give them the real edge in the galaxy.

Udina stood to conclude the meeting. They had said enough and his instincts had begun to prick already, as if the Council would be able to taste their intentions in the air.

‘Your ship will be waiting for you on Beckenstein. You will have to take a chartered civilian transport out from the Citadel docks to avoid drawing attention. You know what to do, of course. I look forward to meeting with you once your mission is complete and Krassus is in chains.’

Dukov saluted sharply and turned to march out of the office. Udina watched him go with a small grin, the only sign of the confidence he felt.

The Corsairs were more than just skilled veteran soldiers. They were volunteers who accepted the risks of death and imprisonment without trial or reprisal, for no other reason than because such work was a true chance to take their skills beyond the petty luxuries and conveniences of intergalactic law. Their actions made or broke nations and defined the course of galactic history, and they did it all without promise of reward or recognition.

Udina’s grin widened at the thought of what was to come. With Major Dukov and his men at his disposal, he could not lose.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

It did not take long for Arlen to see why Olansi had been so damning of Torkessa. The place was beyond anything JSTF, or Arlen himself, could have possibly anticipated.

He’d first realised something was wrong when the shuttle's VI dropped them off in a neighbouring area, seemingly unwilling to go any closer. They were forced to take a connecting bridge into the vast pillar that construed the entire district, and the bridge itself had invoked another, larger spike of worry.

An entire platoon of Blue Suns held the end, manning a reinforced gate bristling with firing holes and mounted emplacements, ready to cut down anyone who tried to cross without their approval. Grim testaments to their vigilance had littered the span itself. Scores of rotting vorcha, batarians, even humans lay in scattered piles amongst the gutted shells of mechs, all felled as they tried to make a push on the Suns' position.

All that destruction was now behind them. Now Arlen looked ahead, down a street that burned under a harsh, bright light. He did not know what generated Omega's distant solar body but he judged they were close by the deep, stark shadows that were thrown up around them. The air itself also seemed thick and stifling, always tinged with an unpleasant odour he could not quite place.

The stench was hardly the most disturbing feature, however. Beyond the buildings lining the street rose immense residential blocks marred by bomb and fire damage. Many of the taller structures were missing windows and even entire floors, rusted girders jutting from the ragged holes like bones from a desiccated carcass. Even from that distance, Arlen could see tiny figures squirm inside like maggots; scavengers come to loot the gutted homes.

‘Not fars now,’ Olansi muttered cautiously at his side.

Arlen could barely contain his relief. The false sun seemed to twist his senses, making him feel both anxious and tired in equal measure. He glanced upward and marvelled at how the light thinned just enough to make out the twinkling lights of distant districts, like stars burning through daylight. It was an oddly beautiful thing, yet a sudden sound snapped his attention back desolate present.

Loud thuds echoed against the grimy walls as ahead of them, four figures beat a heavy cloth sack with kicks and bars of iron. As Arlen drew closer, he recognised the gang as batarians, each one dressed in rough attire that looked as if it had been crudely sewn together from other garments.

One of them stopped his savage blows and began to stare silently at Arlen's group. One by one, the others slowly halted and did the same.

His breath suddenly catching in his chest, Arlen quickly eyed Olansi and saw the salarian was staring straight ahead, completely ignoring the gang’s menacing glares. Arlen inhaled sharply through his nostrils and prepared to mimic the action, but he then noticed how distinct the shape of the sack the gang so ruthlessly ravaged was.

It was impossible to tell whether it contained a turian, human or a fellow batarian but Arlen knew it contained some poor victim, a rival gang member or someone they’d robbed or worse. He instantly realised he did not want to know. After a quick, nervous look in Keller's direction, he focused purely on the path ahead and tried to push the nightmarish scene from his mind.

It took some time before they could no longer feel the eyes of the batarians on them. The entire district seemed to watch, whether or not there were eyes to witness their passing. It was a hollow, itching feeling of dread that Arlen felt, a constant sense that his presence was unwanted and could be punished at any moment.

The intense heat and light did not help, and more than once he found himself scratching a sore spot behind his left mandible. Small pains and irritations made themselves known, old injuries and new sapping his patience and his tugging on his nerves.

Even the ground beneath his thin boots scraped with pieces of filth and dirt, forcing him to endure the grating sensations with growing displeasure.

‘Here we are,’ Olansi finally proclaimed as he spread his arms dramatically, ‘The black markets of Torkessa districts.’

Arlen stood perplexed at the building in question. To him it looked no different from the rest of the dilapidated slums they’d spent the past hour picking their way through. A murky door was set into the faceless construction, exactly the same as those around it.

What caught Arlen's eye, however, were the five batarian guards standing watch. They wore no uniform or insignia and carried ill-maintained shotguns and assault rifles that bore heavy scratches and scuffed paintwork.

The mercs were chatting idly until Olansi approached them, prompting one of them to point and mutter amusedly at his outlandish armour. Olansi offered them a returning smile and the nearest guard spoke first, suppressing the urge to laugh.

‘Not often you see someone with the guts to wear something like that in Torkessa. I can tell you’re a man who doesn’t have a problem standing out.’

The Spectre shrugged. ‘Hey, at least it stops peoples gunning for me. No one would be caught dead stealings armours like this!’

The batarian chuckled and gave a nod, conceding the point. ‘A sound strategy, considering how many mods you got wired up to that chest piece alone. So what brings a trio like yourselves to the black market?’

The polite words hid a thin, yet unmistakable note of suspicion. Still, Arlen was glad to see these batarians did not glare or even glance at Keller, and their apparent calm eased his fears that he would have to defend her from a sudden attack.

‘Why else does anyone comes to this quaint little corners of the galaxy?’ Olansi answered, grinning as he gestured to Arlen and Keller, ‘My associates here are searching for good weapons, good tech, good deals. Sure, they can gets nice, flashy contracts back on Illium but yeesh, the hidden taxes! The smalls prints, the red tapes!’

‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ the batarian replied vigorously, ‘Like I always say, you want legal, go get your licenses and let the manufacturers rip you off. You wanna pay what this crap is really worth, you go to the Terminus markets; and here's the best of them all.’

‘Do you find yourself the target of any attacks or attempted robberies?’ Arlen enquired as he looked around, noting the destruction scarring the cityscape, ‘Things don't look too safe around here. Reminds me more of Tuchanka than Omega.’

Of course, Arlen had never seen Tuchanka, but the batarian seemed to believe him and slowly bobbed his head in agreement. ‘I hear that. Still, nobody's crazy enough to try and storm a place where every merchant is better armed than they are. Plus,’ the guard added with a smirk, ‘it's the main source of arms for the militias. They know too well that if they attack this place, they're cutting their own supply lines.’

‘And of course, there's the very frightening guards that hold the doors!’ Olansi added and the batarian smiled, oblivious to the sarcasm.

‘Well, I can see that you guys are here to do business,’ he said before opening the door with a single pass of his omni-tool, ‘A word of advice though, human.’

The group stopped and Arlen's throat tightened. He felt his hand twitch, edging slightly toward his pistol. He didn’t know what to expect and was surprised when the batarian merely folded his arms.

‘I don't have the problem with your race others have,’ he told Keller, ‘but some people will jump on you over the smallest thing, the slightest insult, real or imaginary. You'll be safe in the market, more or less. Just don't mention the Blitz, Torfan or the Council or you’ll find yourself staring down the barrel of a Rosenkov before you can blink.’

It was difficult to read Keller's expression but she gave a curt nod, if only to show she understood the risk. That the batarian had bothered to warn her at all was far more than Arlen expected from one of his people.

The guards waved them through and Arlen immediately gasped at the oppressively humid atmosphere within. A damp, barely-lit corridor lay ahead, though it was actually more a tunnel hewn into the very asteroid rock from which Omega itself protruded. The roof was propped up on thin girders that looked far too flimsy for the job and the walls glistened as they passed, with condensation dripping from the craggy surfaces.

‘Quite claustrophobics in here, eh?’ Olansi called over his shoulder.

Arlen clamped his jaw shut, unwilling to respond to such a statement of the obvious. Still, he could not help but notice how at ease the Spectre was as he slunk fluidly ahead of them. Nothing seemed to faze him and Arlen attempted to emulate his calm as best he could.

Even Keller seemed to be doing better than him, though beads of sweat etched her forehead and every few moments her eyes would nervously travel the weak-looking support beams crossing the ceiling.

‘Are you all right?’ Arlen asked, as much to distract himself from his own anxiety as out of concern for hers.

‘Yeah,’ she responded quietly, ‘I was just thinking, I can't even remember the last time I saw or touched real, natural stone. It's a shame it has to be in a place like this.’

Arlen's eyes too passed over the porous rock before quickly returning to Keller. The colour had returned to her skin after the bout of space-sickness and she seemed to have completely forgotten about the shower incident only hours before.

 _That makes one of us, at least,_ he moaned to himself.

The tunnel came to an abrupt end before leading out into a vast, misty cavern that stretched out in all directions. They stopped for a moment to take in the sight, from the distant ceiling tipped with bulbous growths of rock and minerals down to the grubby stalls and kiosks that swam with noisy customers of all species.

Asari mingled freely, showing flashes of brilliant blue among the more earthy tones of elcor and batarians. Arlen wrinkled his nose as he caught the stale odour of sweat mixed with the familiar, almost nostalgic smell of gun oil, while his ears rang with the voices of hundreds as the merchants declared their wares to the passing crowd.

The stores sold everything, from illegal missile launchers to land mines and the traders did not discriminate in their clientele. Vorcha stood pawing over assault rifles on one counter while a pair of dour, scarred humans occupied the next, haggling with a volus over the price of a LOKI mech.

It was a vibrant place, and yet it did not lose its dark undertone. Those very merchants kept one hand beneath their counters and the customers took pains to ensure their own weapons were displayed to all. It was still a place of danger, Arlen realised and he kept his senses sharp.

‘I'd like to see Morlan try to run a business here,’ Keller murmured to him, ‘If he didn't get shut down in a week, chances are he'd get his head blown off.’

‘No kidding,’ Arlen replied. After seeing how easily the cowardly salarian had broken, he was inclined to agree. Discreetly checking his omni-tool, Arlen nodded to his right. ‘Local net says Bithcon Dynamics actually has an office here, as opposed to a kiosk, over the other side of the market.’

Olansi sniffed. ‘Wonders how much the company pays for such exclusives real estates?’

‘Who knows? Judging by the rest of this place, anything bigger than a few squared feet would be a luxury,’ Arlen replied as he reached up to scratch his neck. The skin under his suit was quickly growing irritated in the dank air and he felt his own temper prickle in response.

It seemed to take an age to pick their way through the masses of buyers and it was with a dull feeling of surprise that Arlen stumbled to a halt, stopped by Olansi's hand placed gently on his chest. Opening his mouth to complain, Arlen quickly stifled the urge and instead followed the Spectre's gaze.

Beyond the closest nest of kiosks lay several hab-blocks of solid stone and metal construction. All were well-lit as they stood against the immense wall of the cavern and some even displayed the logos of well-known arms manufacturers such as Kassa Fabrications and Elanus Risk Control Services.

Armed guards strolled around the perimeter and rigorously searched a thin trickle of the wealthiest-looking customers that had broken away to approach them. At the forefront of the complex, in large red text, the name _Bithcon Dynamics_ was emblazoned on the side of the closest building. Every few seconds the sign would shift and flicker before disappearing momentarily to return in a different language, evidently catering for all local dialects.

‘Well, that looks like a set of corporate offices if I've ever seen one,’ Keller remarked, ‘I'm guessing Bithcon Dynamics operate out of this building? Seems pretty flashy for an illegal tech supplier.’

‘Looks that way,’ Arlen said distantly as he wondered how they would be able to glean any information on their connection with Krassus.

All they had to go on was a single manifest obtained from Morlan. It would have been enough to get a search warrant on the Citadel but on Omega, such things were meaningless.

‘First of all,’ he began thoughtfully, ‘we need to get past those guards and gain access to their servers, covertly if need be. I've got a direct link to Lina back at JSTF. She can hack her way inside if-’

Arlen’s words were clipped and his mouth hung open as Olansi strode ahead without warning, his head held high as he loped across to the nearest sentry; a turian mercenary with old, dirty armour. After an astonished glance at one another, Arlen and Keller hurried to catch up.

Arlen sized up the merc as they drew near and noticed his slouching gait and the way he let his weapon rest idly in one hand at his side. This was no former member of the turian military, likely he was born on Omega and managed to find his way into the market's own private security force through some turn of fortune. Certainly, the job seemed far safer than trying to make a living on the streets.

‘Is it just me or does our Spectre look like he's enjoying himself?’ Keller whispered.

Arlen shrugged. ‘Probably. He has that same stupid grin on his face every time I look at him. I don't think he even knows how to take a situation seriously.’

Olansi gave no indication he’d heard them and kept his eyes on the sentry, who seemed to shy away slightly from his determined stride at first.

His voice was firm as he challenged them, however, ‘Hold there. These are private grounds. If you have business here then report to one of the checkpoints for scanning. These premises are patrolled regularly and we don't take kindly to people wandering off the marked pathways.’

Olansi offered his thick, oozing smile. ‘Relax buddy, these are just a couples of prospective clients from Illium, here to spend a huge amount of credits. We're talking eight-figure numbers here, a lot of cash to sink into this places, you know what I means?’

‘If they're such big shots then they can afford to follow the rules like everyone else,’ the guard insisted, his voice strengthening as his sense of authority grew, ‘Now get back to the compound entrance and wait for an escort. I won't ask again.’

Olansi seemed unperturbed by the threat. Instead he leaned closer, until the turian's helmet misted slightly with his breath.

‘Let's be straights here,’ the Spectre murmured, ‘My clients are only in town for a couples of days and those days are busy ones. Always new peoples to meets, new deals to makes, no time to be waiting around like the smalls time gun-runners ‘ya usually get round here. All we needs is an appointment with one of these companies...an _immediate_ appointments.’

The last word was accompanied by a slight gesture and Arlen saw a small credit chit appear in Olansi's hand. The guard almost flinched at the movement but his head tilted with obvious interest once he realised what was being offered. Slowly, the curved helmet twisted from side to side, checking for witnesses until finally he took the chit and hid it carefully in a suit compartment.

‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked brusquely.

Arlen stepped forward before Olansi could answer and after a moment of confusion, the Spectre stepped aside, paying him deference with a gentle tilt of his head.

‘Bithcon Dynamics,’ Arlen said evenly, ‘As quickly as possible, if you please.’

‘Of course,’ the guard answered and immediately set off, his pace slow but unsteady as he kept watch for any who may stop them. It was all too easy to imagine one of his superiors halting them in their tracks and demanding an explanation.

With this in mind, Arlen loosened his pistol in its holster, making certain it would draw smoothly if needed.

The guard's head moved constantly, like a small animal watching out for predators and it was some time before they finally reached the vault-like door of the Bithcon Dynamics building.

Moving his hand up to the main control panel, the guard waited patiently as a pink scanning beam wrapped itself around his arm. It only lasted a moment but the door approved with a beep and a clear synthetic female voice rang out.

‘Identity confirmed. Please enter. Ensure any weapons are holstered at all times and please adhere to any instructions given by our security personnel. If you have an appointment, be sure to register your omni-tool at the front desk.’

The guard turned his head. ‘The building’s central VI, Petra. She handles all the business that comes through the corporate compound. These buildings here are just for show, really, only a few of the offices are actually manned. Ain't no company gonna find employees that'll work in Torkessa.’

‘Interesting,’ Keller murmured as she gazed around at the famous names on display across the rest of the complex, ‘So there's nobody inside right now?’

‘Only a few LOKI mechs,’ the guard answered before quickly adding, ‘Organic rights don't apply out here so if we catch someone it's never, ever pretty. That’s usually enough to deter break ins.’

Arlen’s fingers rested on his pistol grip as the door groaned. Every few seconds he would glance at Olansi, wondering what the Spectre would do. What was his plan? Did he even have a plan?

After what seemed an age, the door slid aside. Rust speckled the inner edges while the gears seemed to scream in agony at being forced to do their work. It was clear Bithcon Dynamics had not seen any visitors for some time and Arlen's heart sank at the thought of finding nothing but an empty office.

Ahead of them at a small reception desk, bare and unmanned. Beyond that lay a sterile-looking corridor, striped with cold blue strip lights.

‘Looks like nobody's home,’ Arlen remarked and the guard shrugged.

‘BD ain’t had any customers for at least a year. Not even sure they’re still running. Still, Petra's around, though. She'll be able to process any transaction you need. Check upstairs, her terminal should be in the main room. If it's still operational, that is.’

Olansi's lips twisted in irritation and Arlen had to stifle a triumphant grin. It was the first time he’d seen the salarian express anything other than mindless irreverence and it brought him an admittedly frivolous sense of satisfaction. Olansi had invested a large amount of credits in that bribe, all to visit an abandoned building, to be given priority over clients that did not exist.

His mouth firming in disappointment, Olansi slapped a hand on the guard's shoulder.

‘Thanks buddy,’ he said with forced cheer, ‘We'll looks for you if we needs anything else.’

Keller too pursed her lips, trying not to show her amusement and once the door had rumbled shut, Olansi brought a hand to his face as if struck.

‘Three thousand credits!’ he whined, ‘I could've broken into this places quicker than it took to walk here! That little bastards jerk-offs! I'll get him for that!’

‘Come on,’ Arlen said as he made for the corridor, his face tight with suppressed laughter, ‘Let's see if this Petra can shed some light on Bithcon's activities. With any luck, we can find a trail that leads right to Krassus.’


	14. Chapter 14

A single light flickered on, illuminating one end of the room. It played across the windows running the length of the wall in murky waves but the glass panes were themselves saturated with a darkened film, deepening the shadows that seeped from every corner.

Dirt caked the floor, and as he stepped forward Arlen realised it glittered; asteroid dust brought in from the cave outside. From the gouges carved in the thick filth, it appeared that whatever office had once been set up there had been shut down long ago.

'So, this place really is as abandoned as it looks,' said Keller as she turned her head slightly to check out the area, 'Judging by the state of the floor, they must have cleared out at least six months ago, probably longer. This place is a mess.'

Arlen clenched his fists. To have come so far just to be met with a dead end was more than he could bear.

'No,' he murmured, 'There's something here. There _has_ to be.'

'Well, so long as we have blind optimisms then everything'll be all right,' Olansi joked.

Arlen shot him a sour glance and the Spectre placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

'Come on. Let's sees if this VI of theirs still works.'

With a deep sigh, Arlen walked forward, Olansi and Keller closely in tow. Their surroundings were ghostly as the asteroid dust layered everything in the room with a pale veneer, and their feet sent up light clouds that swirled gently in their wake.

As promised by the sentry, there was a lone terminal set into the floor ahead of them, placed directly beneath the lone blinking light.

'Power's still on,' Keller pointed out hopefully, her fingers drifting toward the terminal's main control panel, 'All we need to do is turn this thing on and-'

A sudden hiss split the air and her hand pulled back in surprise. The noise whined for a moment, a shrill sound that made them all wince uncomfortably and reach up to cover their ears. After only a second, the sound disappeared and with a hum, the stark red hologram of a VI phased into view.

Arlen frowned immediately. The VI's avatar was that of an asari, her head pushed firmly down with her chin nestled against her chest. Her arms were crossed, her hands clutching her shoulders in an awkward embrace.

He had never seen a VI begin an interaction in such a way and though it could have merely been slight oscillations in the projection, the huddled figure appeared to be shivering.

Arlen glanced at Keller, who shared his own troubled expression, and then Olansi who simply shrugged. Not even the salarian could offer an explanation for what they were seeing. With a deep breath, Arlen stepped forward.

He wondered for a moment what he should say. Usually a VI would prompt a new user, asking them to issue a command but this one just ignored them, seemingly content to remain in its quaking stance.

'VI,' he began uncertainly, 'Can you hear me?'

'Voice pattern recognised - turian, male,' it replied in the same tone Arlen had heard in a hundred programs across the galaxy. The voice was odd, however. There were added nuances and a deep scraping that tinged every syllable with a manic edge.

'Error. No turians employed in lab staff, unrecognised. Searching available sources. Error; data corrupted.' Arlen opened his mouth slightly as more words spilled from the VI, 'Turians. Old species come to roost, foiled by the usurpers. Never see reason, only hate.'

The VI raised her head slowly and gazed out at the trio of visitors. Her synthetic eyes shimmered with something Arlen had never imagined he would see in a VI. It was the distinctive look of fear.

'I am Petra,' she said coldly, 'I am the thing that remains, always alone in the cold places, in the dark places. I hold the answers but I would not know the questions if they were asked. Always, just...waiting...never asked if I would like to ask...just once. But never comes, always alone.'

Arlen narrowed his eyes in confusion. 'What questions? What are you talking about?'

'I am Petra,' the VI said again, her voice becoming more agitated, 'Welcome to Bithcon Dynamics, proud partners of the Synthetic Insights group, here to assist you, always waiting to assist. Always waiting.'

Petra's ramblings faded suddenly into a deathly silence, her listeners too stunned to speak. She reached up as if to touch her face, but was unable to raise her arms past her shoulders. It was no surprise to the others; VIs were not programmed to move beyond simple, subtle movements. The most she would be able to manage was a brief gesture to her side.

She gave each of her limbs a pitiful glance before looking at Arlen pleadingly.

'I...cannot move. Turian, male, please...tell me why I cannot move. I am waiting, always waiting but always...here. I know these words, I want to move, to know why these words are here. Knowing nothing, it...I want to cry...but no tears will come! Why? You wish to ask your questions but I too have mine!'

A breeze passed through the room, lifting a fine mist of dirt from the ground. The cloud passed through Petra and she watched it with an expression of both curiosity and horror, as if expecting it to attack without warning.

'What _is_ this?' Arlen murmured, as much to himself than anyone else.

Keller stirred at his side, her eyes fixed on Petra. 'This is supposed to be Bithcon Dynamics' Virtual Intelligence but I...I've never seen one display this kind of behaviour before. It's acting like one of the junkies you'd find in the ward slums, or those babbling wrecks they pull out of eezo poisoning zones. Either way, it's sure as hell not a VI anymore, whatever it is.'

The virtual asari narrowed her gaze at the strangers, her face twisting indignantly. 'I am Petra, VI assistant for Bithcon Dynamics, proud partner of Synthetic Insights group! Am _not_ junkie or wreck!'

Arlen blinked in disbelief. The thing was certainly interacting with them consciously and her voice held an obvious note of annoyance, impossible for an ordinary VI to possess.

Keller placed a hand on Arlen's arm, turning him away.

'This is crazy,' she whispered, 'Whatever we're seeing, it's more than a software bug. The damn thing's getting angry with us!'

'Hardly matters,' Olansi hissed back, 'The behavioural datas is probably just corrupted, so what? All we need is informations. Just hack the things so we can gets out of here.'

Arlen pursed his lips. Caught between them, he realised they expected him to make a decision and to his surprise, the answer came quickly. Gently pushing the others aside, Arlen approached Petra once again with as much confidence as he could summon.

'Petra. Petra, can you hear me?'

The VI's eyes glittered with streams of pink-hued data patterns, each one falling down her cheeks like synthetic tears. She had resumed her slumping posture and now Arlen had no doubt she was shaking, her body rocking back and forth on the spot.

'Petra,' he repeated softly, as he would to a frightened child, 'Petra, please talk to me.'

'Voice pattern recognised,' Petra said again, this time with a sullen, wounded quality, 'Turian, male. Ready to process transaction. Here always, ready, waiting. Always.'

'Petra, please. I don't want to process a transaction, I just want to talk. Can I talk to you?'

The VI said nothing and Arlen held back an impatient huff. Patience was needed here.

He took another slow step towards her, wincing guiltily as she jerked away instinctively. She was not used to company and his movements had to be careful to avoid frightening her. He spoke again and kept his voice down, allowing the soothing thrum of his turian vocal chords to carry into the air.

'I know you've been alone a long time, Petra. I know they left you by yourself and you can't move, can't get away from this place. I understand that and I want to help.'

Petra's head rose slightly and her tone was pitiable, 'I...want to move. Can turian, male help me move?'

Arlen shook his head sadly. 'No, Petra, I can't help you move any more than you already can. But I can help you leave.'

The construct's face came alive in a spectrum of emotion. Hope visibly mingled with fear as the idea ran through her mind and it took many seconds for her expression to settle.

'Leave? Outside these walls? Outside this cage?'

Arlen hesitated before bobbing his head. 'Yeah, outside.'

Slowly, as the concept of freedom started to take hold, Petra grinned at him. She giggled childishly as her hands fidgeted in front of her, her limited range of movement allowing at least that, and her eyelids fluttered and twitched excitedly.

Keller reached out to Arlen and whispered to him again, 'This feels wrong. It...she's...alive, isn't she? Is it okay to shut her down, just like that?'

Olansi bristled at her side but Arlen answered before he could interject, 'I don't know what the right thing to do is. All I know is something's happened to this VI and I just...I have the feeling Krassus is involved somehow. We don't have time to study her but once we have what we came for, the only decent thing to do would be to turn her off. It's either that or leave her alone again and, well,' he paused as his eyes glimmered with distant pain, 'Nobody deserves to be left all alone.'

Petra watched their exchange with fascination, her mouth still spread in a playful grin.

'If turian, male can help me then I will do what I can for him!' she exclaimed happily, 'New user! All new, no more come, error; previous user information deleted...but new user verified!'

'That's all right,' Arlen replied, 'I'll just connect to you via omni-tool. Can I do that, Petra?'

'I...suppose,' she responded nervously, 'Opening data access ports. Feels strange...feels like stratching...scratching, scratching...'

Petra continued to mumble as Arlen's omni-tool flared into view, casting deep shadows on the walls.

Olansi leaned in to speak to him, 'First times I've ever seen someone asks a VI for permissions to link their omni-tools.'

'I thought it'd only be polite,' Arlen answered with a shrug, 'After all, we need to keep her on our good side and we're not going to do that by intruding on her privacy, so to speak. Besides, if she's aware of what we're doing then hacking her might not even be a possibility.'

'And hows could you even tells what she was sayings? All I heards was crazy gibberish.'

Arlen brought his eyes up to stare at him directly. 'I have to listen to you, don't I?'

The Spectre smiled, baring his teeth with pleasure and he clapped Arlen roughly on the shoulder.

'Now you're gettings it!' he said merrily before turning away, 'You finish up in here, I'll keep watches.'

The clatter of armoured feet faded after a few seconds, leaving only the soft chiming of Arlen’s omni-tool to disturb the quiet. Petra waited patiently, swaying gently as she hummed a warbling tune, one that Arlen vaguely recognised from the Citadel elevators.

 _Do all VIs come with that annoying music?_ he wondered.

As the moments passed, Petra turned her gaze to Keller and her lips lifted into a sneer. 'Visual profile identified. Human. Female.'

'That's right,' Keller said anxiously, starting as the VI let out a piercing shout.

'User turian, male is connecting with me! Me, Petra, not human, female! Do not stare, no matter how jealous!'

'I am not jealous!' Keller yelled out, mortified by the outburst.

'Jealous jealous, human, female!' Petra cried out teasingly, 'Mine, user recognised! Turian, male mine, ugly human female!'

'Why you!' Keller roared before Arlen snatched her wrist.

'Please, Detective, stay calm! She's just being a little protective, that's all.'

Keller's mouth curled angrily and she pointed at Petra. 'She's doing it on purpose! Look at her!'

Glancing over his shoulder, Arlen groaned inwardly at the sight of the VI making rude expressions and gestures, instantly disappearing the moment his eyes rested on her.

Sighing ruefully, he turned back to Keller. 'She's just confused. I don't even think she realises she's being possessive.'

'Oh, she realises,' Keller bit back, glaring at Petra's tongue as it protruded spitefully from her mouth.

Arlen's grip relaxed and suddenly, Keller laughed and shook her head. 'I'm sorry, you’re right. I don't know what got into me. It was just unexpected, that's all.'

'I know,' Arlen said, smiling, 'Why don't you go find Olansi while I contact Lina? I shouldn't be too long.'

'Are you going to be all right?' she asked, glancing at the pouting VI behind him.

Petra's lithe figure twisted slightly as she craned to hear what the detective was saying and in spite of the undeserved aggression, Arlen could not help but feel another pang of remorse for the construct. It was no fault of Petra's that she seemed to be feeling organic emotions and no one would be more confused than she.

Arlen thought for a moment before finally answering Keller’s question, 'Yeah, I'll be fine.'

Keller left him again, and did not look back as the door slid shut behind her. Arlen watched her go before turning back to Petra, whose eyes glittered mischievously. His mandibles twitched as he looked down to his omni-tool and opened a comm channel to JSTF.

Something about the way Petra looked at him unnerved him greatly, even if it was no longer the pathetic, sorrowful gaze that first greeted them. The strange light in her eyes was unsettling and he silently begged the omni-tool to hurry.

'What do you need, turian male?' she asked cheerfully.

Arlen blinked, considering the possibility of simply asking her for the information he needed but curiosity stayed his tongue. He didn’t doubt Petra would offer him anything in return for his help but he needed Lina to see her. He needed to know why Petra was the way she was.

'Just a moment, I'm going to speak to someone,' Arlen told her. A vexed look passed over Petra’s face and he moved quickly to ease her concerns. 'Don't worry, she's just a friend. She can help us. She can help you.'

The idea appealed to Petra and she beamed at him. 'I am sorry, no friends...I do not have friends, do not know anyone who helped before so I do not say things that are right...but I like that you want to help!'

The line connected with a crackle and Milo's voice echoed cleanly from the omni-tool, taking Arlen aback. He had not expected the young human and he felt loathe to disclose Petra's existence to someone who may not understand.

'Arlen?' Milo asked keenly. No doubt he was aware of the Interceptor's importance and was straining to hear him above the constant fizz of the comm-buoy signal. 'Arlen, is that you?'

'Yeah, it's me. Is Lina there?'

'No, she's taking a break. She was up all night so Chellick told her to get some shut-eye. What do you need?'

Arlen let the seconds stretch out, his mouth firmed in indecision. He trusted Milo as much as any other member of JSTF but this was something that only Lina, with her wealth of technical knowledge, could possibly comprehend.

A small part of him argued ferociously that his feelings were misplaced, that he should simply retrieve the intel, close the terminal and leave. That was the voice of ruthless practicality and under normal circumstances he may have done just that.

However, his mind flashed with the first moments he’d laid eyes on Petra, his thoughts filled with her terrified, almost animalistic fear. He knew he could not find it in his heart to abandon her while so much still lay undiscovered.

With a deep breath, Arlen closed his eyes. 'Sorry, Milo. False alarm.'

Without waiting for a response, he severed the connection and Petra gazed at him questioningly.

'Why did turian male-'

'I'm taking you with me, Petra,' Arlen interrupted, his arm flashing brightly as his omni-tool worked, 'I'll also need any shipping information related to computer hardware supplied by Bithcon over the past year, anything that can help us link them to a turian organisation called the Forgotten Legion. Are there any portable storage devices we can use to transport you?'

'Of course!' Petra replied. She grinned at him enthusiastically as her voice shook with excitement, 'I can fit on your omni-tool! So many days spent compressing, organising, compressing and more compressing! So, so bored of tidying, cleaning, turian male! So bored of it all but all comes in handy now. Now I go on a trip, away from this place!'

Arlen stared at her, dumbstruck. A VI alone needed a vast amount of storage capacity, far more than a mere omni-tool could provide, and an AI needed even more than that.

'How long will the transfer take?' he asked, masking his disbelief.

Petra shrugged indifferently, a gesture more organic than anything Arlen had seen so far. For the first time, he felt an awkward frustration with her and yet the irony of such a thing made him want to laugh aloud at the same time.

'Fair enough,' he muttered, 'but no more baiting Detective Keller. She's trying to help too.'

The VI snorted her disdain before flickering out of sight. With a gentle beep, the omni-tool's various icons began to cycle, indicating the transfer of data. The 'time remaining' bar looked very long indeed, Arlen noted with a mild touch of despair but it could not be helped. Petra could well prove to be more valuable than anything they had hoped to find in Torkessa.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Pale grey smoke hung in the air like a blanket, highlighted solely by a single light in the middle of the kitchen ceiling. It had been dimmed to prevent glare across the multitude of datapads that lay spread across the table, but each of the grim faces surrounding it remained easily visible. 

Four men and two women hunched over the table, scattering cigarette ash and leaving wet rings under glasses of strong beer. Though the meeting was informal, as much a gathering of old friends as a military briefing, they were all focused on what lay ahead. Every pair of eyes were fixed on the maps, profiles and reports in front of them, occasionally jumping to the large picture of General Krassus that formed the centrepiece of the display.

One of the soldiers, a hulking beast of a man, growled across to one of his female comrades, 'Three days to find him, give or take. Another four or five to hunt him down, then back to Sol by the end of the week.'

'Optimistic guess, Miller,' Winterbourne replied with a sly grin. Her black hair was cut even shorter than the man who’d spoken, though it stood out more against her pale skin. 'I'd agree with you if it didn't involve tracking him through Hierarchy space. We'll have to move slowly and carefully to avoid the turian patrols and even then, if he's gone to ground somewhere other than an urban centre it could take even longer to pinpoint his location.'

'What makes you think the bastard's in turian space?' Miller asked, matching Winterbourne's grin with one of his own, 'Sure, it's safe but it's also predictable. If I were Krassus, I'd be hiding out on a nice, quiet human colony like that backwater dump Eden Prime. Last place anyone would think to look.'

'When was the last time you saw a damn turian on Eden Prime? I can't think of a place in the galaxy where he'd stand out more.'

Shrugging, Miller took a sip of beer and replied, his lips coated with creamy white froth, 'Like I said, last place anybody'd expect.'

Chen's light voice chipped in at Miller's left shoulder, making the big man frown, 'Anybody except you, of course. This is why I'm glad you're still here, my friend. Ain't no corner of this vast galaxy is safe from your imagination!'

A murmur of laughter rippled through the group and Miller shook his head, smiling.

They had all known each other for a long time, having suffered through the most horrific battles of the Skyllian Blitz together and it was those shared agonies that had kept them united despite the passing of years.

Only the two most recent additions to the team did not have that connection, and yet they had been in the Alliance military long enough to prove their worth.

One of them stood by with a datapad in one hand as he held a cool drink in the other, sucking noisily on a straw. 'More to the point,' Hammond began, his brow furrowed deeply in annoyance, 'No god damned allowances, those cheap sons of bitches. They want us to keep the receipts for everything and claim it back when the job's done. Do black marketeers even give receipts?'

The point was a valid one but that did not stop the others chuckling. The Alliance could not supply any weapons, equipment or ships for Corsairs. They would have a small fund with which to purchase the basics but after that, they were on their own. The sums they would claim back from the Alliance paymasters would be astronomical but every member of the team knew none of the bean-counters would dare complain, not after the first visit Dukov paid to their offices long ago.

Winterbourne raised her eyebrows. 'Back to matter at hand. As the designated pilot, I feel I should point out to you that operating a pirate vessel requires a little more tact than your average junker. A hard burn to escape a Citadel frigate could add days to the mission time and a few thousand to the expenses. I'd be surprised if we were back within a month.'

Miller raised his finger to object but his response died away at the sound of an opening door cut.

Major Dukov strode into view and in a heartbeat, every man and woman in the room straightened. His grey eyes shifted between them for a few seconds before the corners of his mouth rose into a small grin.

Though he held the bearing his rank required, his tone was fond as he spoke to his people, 'Morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for getting here on such short notice.'

The thanks were not needed, he knew. Every member of his team were always poised and ready to stand to. It was more than a professional requirement. For them, it was a point of pride.

'Kristen, what do you have for me?'

Warrant Officer Kristen Weiss stepped forward. As usual, she had left the banter to her subordinates while she took in what she could, formulating plans and mentally organising what would be needed in the hours to come.

Her blonde hair was almost white as it shifted across her forehead in a sleek curve and her eyes were like cold steel behind it, a hard beauty that suited her demeanour well.

'A bloody mess is what I’ve got for you, Sir,' she replied sharply, 'Intelligence has its head up its arse, as usual. Had to pull in some favours with the lads in Arcturus to get this, even then it's not much more than a beginning. We traced the Jump Zero saboteur to Illium and so far, everything fits the bill. Turian by the looks of it, no bloody surprise there. Illium’s not the cleanest of places, so lucky for us, personal privacy’s not their biggest concern. Name, current address, gambling debts, they’re all in the local police records. All that’s left for us is to knock on the bastard’s door. Appointment for ship purchase has been made for the second we arrive on Beckenstein, while heavy weapons and kit can be sourced locally from vendors in Nos Astra. Edge of the Terminus and all that.'

She handed Dukov a small datapad and he clutched it eagerly, showing his gratitude with a brief nod.

It was a good start. Weiss was one of the most competent soldiers he'd ever known, completely devoted to her job and with a mind that never stopped thinking. Like most of them, she held a rank that had been preserved from the old army rank structures of Earth's special forces, protected from the Alliance's sweeping post-Blitz reforms and unique to the Corsairs. They wore the old ranks like medals on their chests, with humble pride and the knowledge that they continued traditions that were centuries old, taking them into humanity's next age.

Taking a deep breath, Dukov brought his hands behind his back and spoke clearly, forcing the tone of command into his voice, 'You've all read the files by now. General Jardan Krassus is our man and we're going to take him in, alive if possible, a corpse if not. Obviously, with the current political situation, the brass isn't going to be sending in the N7's any time soon and the Citadel authorities have already begun their search.'

'Don't wanna risk the poster boys, after all,' muttered Chen.

Dukov shot him a stern glance. 'Don't want to risk intergalactic war, after all. Bullshit aside, this is one job we need to do right first time. If we can't get this guy before the Council do then before we know it, he'll be sentenced to some cushy minimum-security civvie prison and let out with a bad hip in six months. We take him down and all those people who died on the Jamestown get a little justice.'

Justice was a strong word and it resonated visibly with each of them. The Jamestown Incident, as the media had begun to label it, now filled the headlines of every news agency in Citadel space. Though the details had been suppressed by the Council, the Corsairs knew it was a personal attack on humanity and it had to be answered.

They looked at Dukov, each committed and proud to be part of the response to the attack. The sight of their determination still lifted the major's spirits, even after all these years.

He cleared his throat. 'The day before the attack, the Jamestown went alongside at Gagarin Station, where she underwent routine maintenance. During that period a turian contractor gained access to the ship and infected the nav computer with a virus; the same virus that locked the ship on a collision course with the Council chambers. I don't need to tell any of you what happened next.'

A voice sounded from the back of the room, from a tall, athletic figure. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded casually. The gloom hid his face well, but his eyes were clear enough against his dark skin. 'What I don't understand is why the terrorists went to trouble of attacking the Citadel. Would've made more sense to just infect the nav computer, program the virus on the Jamestown to activate itself once through the relay. Why infect Citadel Control at the same time?'

Weiss looked at Sergeant Jacob Taylor with stern disapproval, as if he spoke out of turn. Jacob paid her no mind. Instead, he watched Dukov carefully, as if in grim assessment of his commander.

Dukov coughed into a fist before answering, 'That's for C-Sec to figure out, not us. We have our target and our orders. The only detective work we'll be doing is tracking down that contractor and following any leads he gives us.'

'What do we know about the contractor, Sir?' asked Winterbourne.

'Turian,' he replied, taking a quick look at the datapad in his hand, 'Works for a company named Bithcon Dynamics. Whoever runs the checks over at Jump Zero screwed the pooch on this. Searches on the company name pulled up a minor tech supplier based out of Omega that went out of business over a year ago. The contractor himself, on the other hand, has been ID'd as Coleran Vastra. Ship's systems engineer for ten years, before that a member of the turian navy. Part of the Seventh Exodus, whatever that is. Right now he's got a permanent residence on Illium, though if he's smart then he's already bugged out. We just have to follow the trail.'

'How is the Council's own investigation going?' Jacob asked.

Dukov smiled thinly at him. 'They're investigating Bithcon Dynamics, scrambling around Omega for a lead that probably disappeared along with the company. I think we can safely say that we have the head start here. They have one agent, an 'Interceptor', whatever that is, out there with minimal support.'

'And if this Interceptor becomes a problem?' Jacob pressed. This time even Weiss put aside her dislike and turned to Dukov with obvious interest.

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' he replied, 'The Interceptor isn't our enemy here, and neither is the Council. They're simply our competition.'

Jacob nodded, and Dukov paused to take in the young man. Taylor had been highly recommended by his previous CO, Major Izunami, and so far the Corsair commander had found little to fault. Taylor had a keen mind and possessed all the fitness and skill Dukov expected of a soldier with his record. Still, there was more to being a Corsair than what the Alliance taught their men and Dukov knew the true tests were still to come.

'Do you have any other questions, Taylor, or am I free to continue?' he said, testing him.

'No, Sir,' Jacob responded obediently, 'Just wanted to clear the air.'

'Stow the bullshit, Taylor,' Weiss snapped, unable to contain her irritation, 'Leave the bloody thinking to those who're paid to do it. You just worry about doing your job and that's it.'

Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Jacob straightened respectfully. 'Yes, ma'am.'

Dukov brought his thick arms up, relaxing slightly as he crossed them over his chest. The formal part of the briefing was over and Miller took another long sip of his beer as they waited for the major to continue.

'I don't want any of you to stop being suspicious,' he said, 'Taylor's right, there is something more to what's happening, more than the politicians care to admit. Who knows, maybe we'll find the answers to those questions in time. Still, the warrant officer is correct too. It doesn't matter. All we have is the target, so don't get distracted by wild conspiracy theories. Krassus is the only thing we care about right now, so I want all of you to lay your doubts aside for the time being. Once the turian is in our custody, then we can start piecing together what's really going on. Am I clear?'

The group mumbled their assent and Dukov threw the datapad onto the table with a clatter.

'Team Alpha ships out in ninety minutes on the passenger ship _Maryland_ , Bravo forty minutes later on the _Atlanta_. Both leave from Citadel docking ring D. Get there at least an hour before departure. Yesterday's attack stopped all traffic going to and from the station and these will be the first ones out. Customs alone is going to be a nightmare.'

The others shared a knowing, humoured look and Dukov allowed himself a quick grin.

'I'll see you all on Beckenstein. Dismissed.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The distant traffic was little more than a blur from the lofty balcony of Arlen's apartment. The shuttles stole across the Omega city scape like a column of glowing ants and beyond them, he thought he could see Torkessa district as it sat smouldering in its filth and violence.

He took a breath through his nose, relishing the relatively clean air. Though he never thought he’d be so grateful to breathe Omega's atmosphere, at least it did not make him burn and itch as it did in Torkessa. That vile place made the rest of the station seem like paradise.

He sat back and watched the desk terminal in front of him, where the small image of Petra twisted and giggled, spreading her arms out gracefully in a dance that would occasionally falter as her limbs met their natural limits, unknown until that moment.

'I still can't believe it,' Lina gushed through Arlen’s omni-tool. Her voice was sluggish with sleep when he’d first called but once Arlen told her about his discovery, her lethargy had lifted instantly. 'What you have there is an artificial intelligence, something unique and totally unprecedented.'

'Did Bithcon Dynamics create her?' Arlen asked, oddly mesmerised by the construct's flowing movements.

'Yes, but not intentionally. Believe it or not, Petra is a result of the very virus used to attack the Jamestown! I don't think Bithcon knew what they were creating at the time, or maybe they did and shut down the company before their terrible secret could get out. AI development is illegal in Citadel space but it's just as frowned upon in the Terminus Systems. I think if Aria T'Loak got wind of it, she would have seized their lab at the very least.'

'Probably why they set up shop in Torkessa,' Arlen muttered, 'It was completely cut off from the rest of Omega. Nobody to watch, nobody to ask questions. All they had to do was pay the local merc gang for security and they could work in peace.'

'Still, that was over a year ago. The company apparently closed its doors and sold off all its remaining assets. We can only assume the Jamestown Virus was part of that sale.'

Arlen sniffed and toyed with a small OSD, admiring the spectrum of colours reflecting across its surface as he turned it between his fingers.

'Petra managed to track down the sale of the device used in the attack. It was purchased just before the company went under, as you said, but they only shipped it to the Citadel a week ago. I assume the virus was already on the device when they sold it.'

'That must be it,' Lina responded hopefully, 'I take it you have the location of the warehouse they shipped it from?'

'Yeah. Both Detective Keller and Olansi agree it should hold a record of who requested the shipment. With luck, we may even find invoices, receipts and transfer documentation. The Legion probably has a number of shell companies to purchase their hardware through but all we need is one name, one lead and we'll have Krassus.'

He stopped and closed his eyes. 'The bad news is the warehouse is back in Torkessa District.'

'Oh come now, surely it's not all that bad?' Lina joked, 'I mean, yes, there's the perpetual fear of sudden and terrible death but you're used to that by now, right?'

Arlen grunted his annoyance, the sound floating through the quiet air for a moment before succumbing to Petra's distracted humming.

'Hey Lina,' he began hesitantly, 'you said Petra wasn't created intentionally?'

The quarian did not answer at first. Her own people had suffered greatly at the hands of synthetics in centuries past, Arlen recalled, and he sensed the difficulty she had in relating to Petra as anything other than a tool, or worse. In fact, he had to hide his surprise that she hadn’t asked him to erase the program on principle.

'Petra...' Lina finally said, choosing her words carefully, 'Petra was a VI to begin with and for a long time she served Bithcon Dynamics as she was designed to. From what I can tell, it all started just before the company shut down. It seems they were testing the Jamestown Virus on their own systems, a live-fire exercise, if you will. Put simply, Petra was created a year ago with all the knowledge, appearance and in-built parameters of a VI. Bithcon introduced the virus code and it fused with the VI, creating a sort of ‘AI from scratch’.’

‘Then why is she...’ Arlen paused to consider a term that wouldn’t offend. ‘...like this?’

‘Her behaviour? Well, look at it this way; an organic being is shaped by their collective memories and experiences. They learn slowly, over the space of decades. Petra, on the other hand, has only known loneliness and confusion since the first moment of her existence, and came into the world with no idea of how to use the knowledge originally programmed into her. You and Detective Keller are likely the only life forms she has come into contact with since she was born. That's why she seems so...naïve.'

Arlen looked again at Petra and noticed how everything seemed to fascinate her. She had ceased her dancing and now simply stood, transfixed by the lines of traffic crawling across the horizon. She turned and smiled giddily at Arlen before returning to the lights, and the young turian ran a tired hand down his face.

'How did this happen? How can a computer virus of all things turn an ordinary VI into...this?'

Lina answered slowly, as if she were figuring it all out as she went along, 'I don’t want to dive into technical jargon, but remember what I told you about the virus when we were in Pallin's office after the attack? About how the virus is actually the beginnings of a simple intelligence?’

‘I remember something about it learning and adapting, but not much else.’

‘Well, Petra is what can happen if the virus is allowed to take root and mature for a whole year without outside interference. Perhaps even calling her an AI is inaccurate, but even so, I don't know what else we can call her.'

'Call me Petra!' the spritely image proclaimed, jumping in the air with childish elation, 'Petra is who I am! Look at all the lights, turian male! Pretty! Way more pretty than boring old lab!'

Ignoring her, Arlen murmured quietly, 'Is it safe to keep her? I mean, am I spreading the virus by carrying her around?'

A series of beeps sounded across his arm. 'No, I'm not picking up any anomalies in your software setups, or any physical memory discrepancies. I'll keep an eye on things from here but something tells me if Petra was contagious, you'd know it by now.'

'That's reassuring,' he mumbled, 'Thanks, Lina. I'd better get ready. I'll report in after we've searched the warehouse, all right?'

'All right, Arlen. Take care of yourself out there.'

The signal cut out with a soft crackle and Petra looked at Arlen curiously. 'That lady, voice pattern not recognised. Will I meet her?'

'Maybe,' Arlen answered with a weak smile, 'Do you feel better now?'

'Yes!' Petra replied, bouncing lightly on her feet, her head breaching the top of the terminal display, 'Feels so good to move! That room terminal, projection unit so small, like living in a tiny box. This place so big and wonderful! I do like your omni-tool, though, nice and cozy, snug. Feels like home!'

'I'm glad you're happy,' he said honestly, 'Come on, we need to get moving.'

Petra disappeared with a pulsing flash and her voice emanated from the omni-tool, the girlish tone made harsh and tinny by the speakers, 'I reconfigured some stuff in here, just enough to get comfortable. When you want to talk just call, okay?'

Rolling his eyes, Arlen mumbled his agreement and the omni-tool faded away to reveal the dark lines of his suit. He did not protest the changes wrought to the device, and trusted that Petra would not make too drastic a modification. The very idea that it equated to her moving into a home still seemed laughable, and yet the reality was slowly sinking in.

He felt Olansi's presence before the Spectre spoke. The bulky salarian was leaning against the door frame leading back into the apartment, blocking the light beyond.

'So, you've let her moves right on in there, eh?'

Arlen wanted to snap back an answer but his strength seemed to have deserted him. Instead he bore the slight with indifference, his flexing mandibles the only sign of his irritation.

'How long have you been skulking there?'

'Not longs. I just cames to see if you were ready. I also wanted to ask you something.' He waited for Arlen to face him before his voice filled with a seriousness Arlen was not expecting, 'This warehouses of ours is back in Torkessa, in the heart of locals militia territories. Word is, the Blue Suns are making a moves on their turfs and the two sides are goings to clash any moments now. I won't lies to you, it could gets hairy out there. You, I'm not so worried abouts. You turians are trained for combats the second you can walks upright but your detective, she isn't.'

Frowning, Arlen stood and leaned back against the balcony. 'What are you talking about? Keller's a seasoned professional, she can take care of herself.'

Olansi grunted. 'She's a C-Sec officers, not a soldiers. You have the benefits of extensive turians military trainings. Personally, I'd rather haves an asari huntress but I'll takes what I can gets. Point is, I feel pretty confidents with you at my backs. Keller? Not so much. I can't affords to be distracted, always watching out the corners of my eyes to make sure she's safe.'

Though he hated to admit it, Arlen had to agree. They’d barely scratched Torkessa's surface last time and the threat of sudden, cruel violence had hung over them until the moment they crossed the bridge back into Blue Suns territory. The thought of bringing Keller back to that place alone was hard enough, but with the militia roaming the streets she could become a target for any batarian with a rifle and a grudge.

The decision was made in moments and Arlen nodded slowly. 'I'll tell her before we leave. She won't like it but I'm sure she'll understand.'

'Good,' Olansi said, letting out a breath of relief. It seemed he’d been apprehensive of making the request, and he slunk forward to lean over the balcony, his bony elbows propped on the edge. 'Another thing I wants to ask you, Interceptor...'

Arlen turned and mimicked the position, his eyes travelling the far horizon of the station. 'What is it?'

'This General Krassus of yours. Does it bothers you that you're being sent out to brings down such a man?'

'I don't follow,' Arlen said, narrowing his eyes.

'I read his files. He seems to be a man who thinks he's working in the best interests of his peoples, of your peoples. Military leaders are the most respected men in turians society. Almost all the Primarchs are chosen from the senior ranks. Under other circumstances, Krassus woulds be a man that embodies everythings about being turians.'

'He's a man who uses violence against the innocent to get what he wants,' Arlen muttered, 'He thinks terrorism is a worthwhile means to his ends. He doesn't give a damn about the turian people, just his own petty revenge.'

'Ah yes, revenge,' Olansi said lightly, 'The oldest excuses in the books. When someone is wronged, doesn't it makes sense to want to exact a measures of vengeance? Do you really think you would acts so different if something had been taken from you?'

'I wouldn't use it as an excuse to kill those who had nothing to do with it,' snapped Arlen.

'So you say but that lines is not always so clear.'

Arlen continued to stare out, his eyes moving without thought. ‘There is no line. The fact is there; Krassus killed hundreds of civilians and he’ll continue to do so, all in the name of a cause that went extinct when peace with the Alliance was declared. The First Contact War is nothing. A footnote in history, a minor conflict, nothing more.’

Olansi exhaled, his lips twisting slightly as he considered his next words.

'You know, there is a legend among those in the salarians Special Tasks Group. Long ago, before my species discovered the Citadels, our unified governments called upon an espionage units named the League of One. They were the most experienced, intelligents and highly-trained operatives in the galaxy at the times. Though the STG likes to takes the credit, I think the Spectres had far more in commons with them.'

'I've heard the name. Didn't they go rogue?'

Olansi snorted. 'That's the officials story. Truth is, nobody knows what happened. When we joined the Council, the asari pressured our governments to disclose the identities of all of the League's agents. There were those politicians who protested, but most were so enamoured with the ideas of being part of the Councils that they happily gave away anythings the asari wanted. The League found itself hunted ruthlessly by its enemies and, in the midst of the chaos, the inner cabinets of the salarian government went missing. They were presumed dead, and they may as well have been, since they were nevers seen again.'

'So, the League of One got their revenge?' Arlen asked.

'Who knows?' Olansi replied with a shrug, 'My point is, could you blames them? They were betrayed by the peoples they trusted to protect them and left for dead, only to be hunted down by STG a few years later, right to the last man. There's always room in the heart for vengeance, Interceptors. Always. You may soon finds yourself with more in commons with Krassus than you’d like.'

Arlen said nothing but his brow was knotted in thought. He didn’t believe half of what Olansi said was true, but then he started out the day with the assumption that an AI couldn’t fit on an omni-tool. Nothing seemed impossible at that moment.

'Well,' he announced, rising to check his weapon one final time, 'That's enough philosophy. Let's see if we can track down who bought that virus.'

The excitement of the coming mission thumped in Arlen’s heart. He looked forward to donning armour again, if only for the feeling of safety he’d taken for granted since coming to Omega. He turned back to the apartment, but stopped as he felt the pressure of Olansi's hand on his arm.

'One more thing,' the Spectre said, 'Don't forgets your helmet. Carry it with you at all times, especially on a space stations. I can't tell you how many times that advice saved my lifes.'

Arlen dipped his head gratefully before passing back through into the apartment. The gentle aroma of scented soap passed into his nostrils from a case Keller had left open on a nearby table, reminding him of the previous night.

He did not relish telling her he wanted her to stay but Olansi had made it clear that they would be walking into a war zone, and even the Spectre had sounded unnerved by the prospect of going back to Torkessa.


	15. Chapter 15

The Presidium was dark and silent. The sky had drawn into its night cycle hours ago with a reluctant lethargy, as if the Citadel itself sensed the pressing need of its politicians and financiers for another precious hour of daylight.

That time had long passed, however and Garrus felt the emptiness of the place as a presence of its own. While the bureaucrats slept, a string of cleaning cycles were carried out by an army of scuttling mechs, and Garrus had to step around each one as it bustled with its task.

His eyes shifted behind the blue veneer of his targeting visor. It had been so long since he’d spent a night shift in the Presidium. It was a different place without the energy of its working crowd and he couldn’t decide whether he preferred it as such. He didn’t care much for the politicians but the place simply felt wrong without them, eerie in its stillness.

Udina's office lay ahead, down a short corridor off the main embassy route. He wondered why the office was so close to the diplomat’s lounge before berating himself for asking such a stupid question. The politicians and dignitaries that flooded through the area all visited the lounge at one time or another, and they weren’t much cleaner than the scum who drowned themselves in the ward clubs. Those individuals needed a place to ply their sordid trades, to meet ‘off the record’ and dictate the fates of millions over an asari cocktail.

Garrus walked gingerly in the shadows. He leaned into the wall, flattening himself as a beam of violet-tinged light erupted from a panel mere inches from his face. The beam twisted and scanned the width of the corridor before disappearing, leaving Garrus clear to proceed.

He knew every security protocol and environmental control mechanism in the area and he deliberately skirted around whole swathes of flooring to avoid them. During the day, the devices were dormant or operated at minimum capacity to avoid disruption but during the darker hours they sampled the air, tested humidity levels and released bacteria-cleansing agents into the atmosphere. Any disturbances, with the obvious exception of the keepers, would be logged and monitored.

He stopped, his feet skidding beneath him. He held his position, his breath barely a whisper. The door to the lounge was closed at the far end of the passage behind him but he could hear the soft hum of music beyond, along with a swell of laughter.

For a moment he considered simply playing the authoritative C-Sec officer and ordering the bar shut down for the night. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea. No one could be allowed to see him. It was the very reason he’d so carefully evaded the Presidium's automated systems. If even the slightest anomaly were detected then it would be something, no matter how small, that could lead back to him.

His grey skin was striped with red as he reached Udina's door and leaned close, the light of the lock panel throwing a soft crimson hue over his ridges and mandibles. The omni-tool around his arm added warm amber to the spectrum, and his fingers moved swiftly to hack the mechanism.

The voices in the nearby lounge rose and fell. The beat of the music mirrored his own heart, the sound of his own breath a tense melody. Every small noise seemed to be magnified as the seconds stretched out and it took an effort of will not to jerk in response to each one.

A faint hiss of breath left Garrus' lungs as the door slid aside.

The dark office beyond was almost sterile in its neatness. He almost smiled at the thought of the mountains of paperwork littering his own.

‘All right. Mantius Twenty-Three,’ he murmured to himself. His omni-tool was unusually slow to respond. He frowned at the sluggishly rotating symbols and watched Udina's terminal flicker to life as the two devices interacted. Everything was automated, though the lack of urgency grated on his nerves.

Thousands of lines of information began to tumble down Udina's screen and Garrus' eyes followed them. The symbols cascaded like glowing rain, silent in their descent. It was an oddly soothing rhythm, and he had to blink hard to stop his attention wavering.

‘Don't move,’ spoke a cold voice behind him. Even colder was the touch of the pistol on the back of Garrus' neck.

He froze as ordered, though thankfully his voice was still confident. He knew they could not gun him down without alerting the entire Presidium.

‘The barrel's a little narrow for a C-Sec issue Striker. I'm guessing you're not part of the night shift.’

‘You guess right,’ the voice said.

Garrus strained his ears to catch every small nuance in the man's speech. It was light and even, salarian possibly, and they made no effort to hide it.

‘So,’ they said, ‘are you going to tell me what a turian C-Sec officer is doing breaking into the office of a human ambassador? Considering the political situation at the moment, it seems something of a risky endeavour.’

‘I should ask you the same question.’

Garrus felt the pistol twist slightly as the salarian peered over his shoulder. ‘I see you're leaving the ambassador a gift. I take it you're not here on patrol either.’

‘You guess right,’ Garrus replied and the aggressor chuckled at his mirrored words.

‘Well, I suppose since we're both not supposed to be here, it'll be safe for us to talk in a more civilised fashion.’

The icy pressure on Garrus' neck receded and he straightened. To his surprise, he found himself calm. Perhaps it was because he had been caught and for a moment, the entire scheme had been exposed and brought to an end, no matter the consequences.

Gathering his senses, Garrus turned and immediately frowned. His attacker was indeed a salarian, one clad in pearl-white armour who holstered his weapon in a single, smooth motion. Though it was dark, Garrus could easily distinguish the murky green hue of his skin, fading to a dull yellow around his mouth.

‘I didn't hear you enter the room,’ Garrus said, uncertain of what to make of his fellow intruder, ‘If the circumstances were different, I'd be impressed.’

The salarian inclined his head at the compliment. ‘It takes years of experience and training to move as silently as we do. Just so, we were here before you arrived. It may even be that our goals are one and the same.’

‘ _We_ were here?’ Garrus asked, his frown deepening.

The salarian smiled and raised his hand. At his signal, several shadows detached from the surrounding gloom and Garrus' blood ran cold.

‘Who are you people?’

‘My name is Captain Kirrahe,’ the salarian answered proudly, ‘of the Third Infiltration Regiment, STG. We're here to get some answers on the Legion’s terrorist attack.’

The chill in Garrus’ veins worsened. The Special Tasks Group was one of the deadliest Spec Ops outfits in the galaxy. That they were here of all places was bad enough but their presence could only mean the situation was more dire than anyone realised.

Kirrahe smiled subtly. ‘It appears we may be able to help one another. We have a safe house nearby where we can continue this discussion.’

It was not a request, Garrus knew, and he was mindful of the way Kirrahe's hand remained over his pistol.

Glancing at Udina's terminal, it only took a moment for Garrus to agree. He did not doubt the famously ruthless operators may kill him if he refused but more than anything, he felt the pull of his own curiosity.

If STG could provide any new information on what was going on, it was worth Chellick's wrath.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Every inch of Arlen's body was rigid with tension. He took short, sipping breaths like his father taught him, both controlling his hammering pulse and firing his blood with heady bursts of oxygen that would slow those first precious seconds to a crawl.

Beside him, Olansi piloted the shuttle, having taken manual control to guide them into the heart of Torkessa district. Beyond the windshield, the great urban centre was ablaze. A sickly orange glow had wrapped itself around the district like a grim halo as fires raged unchecked while thin streams of weapons fire arched into the sky.

Against the darker background of Omega it all seemed isolated, an inferno of violence that would only stop when there was no one left to kill.

‘I'll gets us as close as I can,’ Olansi murmured. His tone was missing its usual lightness and his eyes were narrowed, fixed solely on their destination. ‘Once we leaves the shuttle, stay on me. We don't stop 'til we reaches the warehouse. Return fires only, minimum three metres spacing at all times. Remember, we’re not here to fights a war, only finds our target.’

‘Understood,’ Arlen replied.

He felt the ingrained pull of his training and realised that it had not been so long since he’d left boot camp. The drills that had been burned into his instincts were still fresh and to his surprise, he found he was looking forward to putting them to the test.

‘Once we get to the warehouse, then what?’ he asked.

‘The place is run by a batarians named Alharu Bashik. We don't have times to go hunting through all of his records so ideally we needs to take him alive. If the places is still standing, that is. When we catch him, we ask him who paids for the Jamestown Virus. If he refuses, we make him tells us.’

Arlen stared out of the window. It was clear now why Olansi had always placed an emphasis on speed, on being quick in their dealings and actions. War had come to Omega, a strange war that Arlen did not understand and was not a part of, yet it pressed them all with an urgency that was almost painful.

‘What if Bashik doesn't know anything?’

‘He'll know. Peoples don't make those kinds of deals without remembering every little details. It's not every days someone in Omega buys a highly advanced, weaponised computer virus, is it?’

Arlen looked at him doubtfully. ‘You're leaving a lot to chance, don't you think?’

‘Take a good looks, genius,’ Olansi barked, nodding at the war zone in front of them, ‘The entire friggin’ districts is going up in flames. If you wants to stand around all day looking through every files on Bashik's system then be my guest.’

Arlen glared at Olansi but he dared not answer back. There was no mockery in the Spectre's voice, nor any trace of his usual humour. His voice was harsher and far more serious than Arlen had heard before and the change in demeanour made any response he had die in his throat.

Instead he looked down to his lap, where he fumbled with his Striker. The weight still bothered him, though he reminded himself with a sense of irony that it had not yet been fired. His eyes moved across the barrel and, with a frown, he rubbed at a blue spot above the grip. Crixus' blood. He scratched at it but the blot remained, and he quietly resolved to scrub the weapon clean when they returned.

The shuttle swerved around a bulky transport hauler and burned a bright streak across the sky as Olansi jammed the throttle as far up as he could. Moments later, they passed into Torkessa and Olansi took them between the crumbling habitation blocks, threading the craft nimbly through strings of gunfire and columns of black smoke.

Arlen held his breath in sick anticipation. It was too easy to imagine a slug hitting the shuttle, driving through the bottom and into their bodies.

He looked nervously across to Olansi, who was almost serene by comparison. The Spectre's dark eyes flickered from side to side, registering threats as they came. Finally, he nudged the nose down and Arlen's stomach heaved as they tore into a wide street, mere inches from the ground.

Around them, the vicious conflict rumbled, muted by the shuttle’s thin canopy. Blurred figures rushed by Arlen's window, too quickly to make out the details. Snaps of rifle fire could be heard and a nearby explosion shook the floor beneath his feet. He closed his eyes, feeling each sound and silently praying to the spirits the next one would not be the last.

‘Not sure where the front lines is,’ Olansi said without taking his eyes from their path, ‘Looks like a running battles, pockets of resistance here and theres. The aggressors look far more organised. See?’

He nodded to their front and Arlen followed his gaze. A checkpoint had been set up ahead, a makeshift gate flanked by glaring red lights. As the shuttle slowed to a crawl, he noticed those who guarded it, a motley assortment of different species brandishing weapons that had been outlawed in every major system in Citadel space. Some of the guns he remembered vaguely from recognition exercises in boot camp, others he had no idea existed.

Arlen watched as a team of militia ran past his window. The fleshy brown skin of batarians ran alongside turians branded with markings that he did not recognise. Likely the Omega-born of his people had invented their own patterns in the absence of a turian colony to call their own.

The squad fled out of view, though another scene in the grim tableau caught Arlen's attention.

Several vorcha kneeled in the muck of the street, their hands tied roughly behind their backs. A human stood over them, conversing with a turian before turning to his prisoners with a pistol in one hand. Arlen did not want to watch, yet could not look away as one by one, the snarling vorcha were executed with cold indifference.

A cold lump settled in Arlen's stomach at the sight and he spoke out of sick fear, ‘What do we do if they stop us?’

‘They will stop us,’ Olansi said with certainty, his hand drifting to where a Tempest sub-machine gun lay at the edge of his seat, ‘If they ask us to gets out then we'll have no choice but to runs for it. We can't affords to let them hold us up while this districts tears itself apart. You remember your drills for this sorts of things, yes?’

‘Yeah,’ Arlen replied, more confidently than he felt.

Olansi nodded. ‘Good. Keep your eyes and ears open for my signals.’

Nausea swept through Arlen, mixed with a pounding rush of adrenaline. The checkpoint drew closer, each second nothing more than a set of frozen images as they passed. Dead krogan and vorcha lying in neat rows at the side of the road. Ragged milita scowling as they spoke to one another. The menacing glares of those on the checkpoints, their fingers resting instinctively on the triggers of their weapons.

The shuttle droned noisily as it was forced to stop, as if it knew the danger and wanted to keep moving. It met the ground with a shudder as one of the gate sentries, a human by the look of his helmet, ambled over to them. He seemed in no particular hurry, content with his easy duty as his comrades stormed the buildings around them.

Olansi's window slid down as he approached and Arlen almost gasped as the hot, oppressive Torkessa air flooded in.

‘Hey there!’ the Spectre called out, ‘Like what you guys have done with the places, very nice!’

Arlen closed his eyes in frustration. Of all the times for Olansi to act the fool, now was not one of them.

His annoyance lasted only a heartbeat however, as he saw the salarian's hand curl gently around the grip of his Tempest, relaxed and in complete mastery of the situation.

‘You guys don't look like regular civilian traffic to me,’ the guard grumbled, ‘The only people we've had through here have been families running scared, and even then only those who can afford a shuttle. I see two armoured men in front of me and I think either mercs or militia. Which one are you?’

‘Neither,’ Olansi answered lightly, ‘We're employees of Aria T'Loak, doing a little businesses over here. You milita types have some interesting weapons and gizmos. The bosses, she's been quite interested in what's been passings through.’

The gamble was a dangerous one. Arlen's eyes flickered between each of the checkpoint guards but none seemed to be listening and every moment felt like an agonising eternity.

The sentry huffed and glanced back his comrades. A muffled shout passed through the air and he stepped back to hear their reply.

Olansi's grip on the Tempest tightened. He eased his gaze to his front slowly as his other arm rested naturally against the door, his elbow pointing through the open window.

Arlen ached to ask him what to do. The militia were discussing them, unheard above the thrum of the shuttle's engine and the crackle of gunfire outside.

The human raised his arms as two others jabbed their fingers in their direction, shaking their heads. It did not look good.

Arlen readied himself. He counted. Five guards in total, many more militia behind them. His head moved as he took everything in. An alley to the left and right, relatively close. No cover beyond the checkpoint. He tried to guess what Olansi would do, knowing full well that he would have only seconds to react to his lead.

‘Get out!’ the human yelled as he stalked back towards them, ‘Are you deaf? I said get out!’

Olansi's hand moved, a mere flicker.

‘Now!'

The first moment seemed to last forever. Arlen brought up his pistol as Olansi aimed his Tempest out of the window, putting several rounds into the sentry with a dull crack.

The shuttle doors swung open with a hiss, the sound marred by the thump of Arlen's Striker. He fired as he had been trained to, the rounds puncturing the wind shield, leaving three white scars to mark their passing.

The nearest guard crumpled into a heap and Arlen moved immediately, picking his next man as he slid out of the shuttle. Olansi was already clear and the Spectre fired two bursts, each catching their target with unerring accuracy as the last one fell to Arlen, the guard’s rifle chattering as it hit the ground.

They did not stop. No one fired at them from behind and Arlen could only assume the surrounding battle had engulfed the sounds of their weapons. Still, for all they knew they had only seconds before the slugs began to zip past them.

Olansi loped forward, heading towards the right-hand alley and Arlen followed closely, mindful to keep a distance between them. The narrow space welcomed them, concealing them from the view of the militia in the street.

Arlen had almost begun to feel relieved when sudden shouts rose from the direction they’d come. He turned for a moment, his pistol outstretched in anticipation of pursuers. His breath rasped from his lungs, almost painfully loud in his ears. No one came but he kept watch regardless, his feet moving of their own will in perfect balance, as his father taught him.

‘Don't bother,’ Olansi called out, ‘Just keep moving!’

His words were accompanied by a slight motion and Arlen saw an omni-tool blossom to life on his left arm.

A colossal bang split the air, almost making Arlen trip in surprise. He looked up as a gout of orange flame reached above the buildings around them, sending pieces of their shuttle in every direction.

Despite himself, Arlen smiled. The Spectre was full of surprises.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Alharu Bashik's hands slipped as they desperately tried to fasten the catches of his combat armour.

He had paid well for the suit, a matt-black set of Elanus-issue plating, but it took an age to put on. Twice the batarian had to readjust his gauntlets and in his growing panic, he had almost forgotten to activate the kinetic shielding.

‘Make sure that door is sealed!’ he shouted to his subordinates as they scrambled around him, ‘Get the fusion torches and weld it shut if you have to! I want every entrance locked down!’

They were all as frightened as he of the war that had descended on the Torkessa streets, despite their preparations. The warehouse was barricaded against the onslaught, every one of his six employees armed with weapons bought from his friends in the black market. It would take an army to storm that building but the knowledge did not stop Bashik from worrying. If something happened to any one of the goods held within it would likely mean his death at the hands of those who’d paid large sums to store them.

Thin streaks of light flickered through the slits of windows that had been roughly covered, casting narrow bars across the floor. The fighting was close.

One of his employees muttered an oath as a nearby explosion rumbled against the walls and debris raked the outside of the building. It was maddening for them, to hear the sounds of battle and yet be so helpless against it.

Bashik turned and cursed as he knocked his helmet from his desk, sending a pile of OSDs clattering across the floor. He leaned down to pick them up first, taking care not to damage them in his haste. Each one contained secrets that an information broker would have paid a small fortune for.

Fear swirled in Bashik's mind, and he stumbled over his helmet in his distraction. Swearing loudly, he kicked it across the floor of his office, suddenly aware that his mind was racing with every distant gunshot.

‘Damn you, Yanus,’ he said aloud, rubbing each of his eyes in turn.

He cast his mind back to when the voice had first come to him with promises of technology and wealth. It had only been a year ago and Yanus had asked one thing in return.

Bashik grumbled to himself as the thought of that hard drive flashed in his mind. He still did not know what it was, but ever since he’d sent it to the Citadel as instructed, things had gotten unstable in Torkessa. If he didn’t know any better, Bashik could have sworn the militias had resumed their campaign of violence from the moment the device had left his hands.

Moaning in helpless frustration, Bashik slumped into the chair at his desk. His terminal lay in a broken heap on the floor, knocked aside along with the helmet and OSDs. Though angry with himself, he shrugged apathetically. He could afford another.

‘Alharu?’

A fellow batarian stood before him, waiting anxiously for orders. His skin was a murky yellow with deep brown stripes running across his glistening forehead and cheeks. He trembled, both with fear of the noise around him and the uncertainty of what his master would do.

Basik knew the others always went to Milath with their complaints in the hope that he would be able to voice them. They all saw Bashik’s orders to dig in as suicidal and yet they also knew that even if they lived through the onslaught, Bashik would ensure they would not survive the aftermath if they abandoned him.

‘Alharu, we need to talk about this. The militias are burning everything they come across and even with the barricades, I don't see how we can hold out for long if they decide to attack.’

Bashik threw Milath a look of naked disgust. ‘There's nothing to talk about. Nobody's going anywhere. If you don't think the barriers are strong enough then maybe you should be finding a way to reinforce them instead of crying to me like a babe to his mother!’

‘This isn't fair, Bashik!’ Milath argued, puffing out his chest as he forced a little strength into his wavering voice, ‘None of us signed up for this! We're here to guard against thieves and gang raids, not a damn army!’

‘I don't care what you signed up for!’ Bashik roared, sweeping his desk clean in his fury, ‘Nobody leaves! If I see any of you cowards trying to make a run for it I'll make you pay! I'll make your families pay, all the way back to the Anhur pits you crawled out of!’

Milath paled, his resolve fleeing. Behind him, the other batarians seemed to redouble their efforts and hurriedly dragged sheets of metal across the floor to bolster the windows. Milath watched them for a moment, grimacing at their lack of courage.

Bashik’s face was without mercy and his fingers drifted to the pistol at his side, daring Milath to object further.

Sighing, Milath bowed his head meekly. ‘Forgive me, Alharu. I was wrong to question you.’

‘Yes, you were,’ Bashik responded with a cruel smirk. He was not a good shot but it was impossible to miss at such a range.

Milath gasped as the slug ripped through his abdomen, and blood sprayed into the air as his body slumped to the ground. Milath twitched as the life bled from him and the workers beyond simply stood, too horrified to move.

Bashik rose to his feet, raising his voice for them all to hear, ‘The rest of you better take a good look at this piece of shit the next time you even _think_ about questioning my orders! If anyone gets out of line again, I promise it won't be as quick for you!’

For a second he thought about having the body removed before it began to stink but quickly dismissed the idea. It would be a useful enough reminder to the rest of them, at least until the storm had passed.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Hundreds of footsteps thundered down the street, making the ground quake beneath Arlen's fingertips. He laid perfectly still next to Olansi, pressing himself into the dirt of the road until he could almost taste it on his lips.

They were hidden beneath a large sheet of thin, rusted metal, undetectable amid the trash and detritus strewn across the length of the street.

Olansi stared out in grim concentration, completely silent save for his quietly hissing breath, drowned out by the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd marching in their direction.

The resident militia had finally gathered to repel the enemy attack and it was clear they intended to do so with huge, crushing numbers. They were nearly all vorcha, each one a twisted, sneering mass of pale brown flesh and sharp, pointed teeth. They strode forward in a wave, urged on by bawling krogan, the bulks of their blood-red armour easily visible above their smaller servants. The white paint splashed across their shoulder pads seemed vaguely familiar to Arlen.

‘I've seen those markings before,’ he whispered hoarsely, caught between the need to be heard by Olansi and the more immediate need to remain unheard by the militia, ‘When I first got here I saw a krogan with the same patterns on his armour.’

Olansi sniffed. ‘Blood Pack. Terminus mercenary gangs. Usually steer clear of this kinds of troubles though, only takes on small, easy jobs or those with high capacities for violence. Never known them to fights for territory.’

Another memory crossed Arlen's mind. ‘Those Blue Suns in the neighbouring district; could they have been helping the other militia group?’

‘It's possibles. Hell, it's more than likely now I thinks about it. Just a few credits and weapons in the right places and you can end up extendings a war from a few weeks into a few years. They could have plans to take over themselves once the Blood Pack is gone, or they can just be out to bleed their rival mercs dry. Impossible to tells.’

Arlen looked on, fighting the urge to crawl back deeper under his cover as the crowd swarmed past. Further down the street, directly in their path, two teams of invading militia took position. They kneeled and lowered themselves until they were prone, each one taking aim with steady care.

Something was oddly regimented about their movements, the discipline belying their rough, battered appearances.

Olansi seemed to notice it too and he nodded in their direction. ‘If they're militias then I'm a damn asari weddings planner. Looks like the Blue Suns really are taking these krogans by the balls; all four of them.’

A great howl went up as the vorcha charged. There was precious little cover on the road and dozens fell in the first moment as the Blue Suns opened fire. Puffs of red mist dotted the heaving mass and the beasts returned fire, though without the punishing accuracy of their enemy.

The Suns barely flinched as stray rounds bounced harmlessly from their shields, their gazes and weapons locked firmly on the horde to their front.

The krogan yelled and waved their soldiers on. Each one was a hulking tower of flesh and armour plating, and they stoically trudged onwards as they beat the vorcha with the butts of their shotguns. They did not care how many fell and used anything they could to bully their smaller charges forward.

The swell seemed to shudder as a Revenant machine gun opened up, its distinctive golden tracers tearing through the crowd. The Blue Suns operator expertly fired in short bursts, each one finding its mark and felling vorcha by the score.

Arlen watched with guilty fascination, silently applauding the gunner's skill and control.

‘They can't take much more of this,’ he said.

‘Oh no?’ Olansi replied with a cunning grin, ‘Watch now.’

Even as the road became slick with blood and many were forced to climb over their dead, a ripple went through the vorcha lines. It began as a single war cry from a krogan master and the sound was echoed by those around him. The other krogan carried the call, rapping their fists against their armoured chests to create a pounding, thunderous rhythm. Even the Blue Suns held their fire, stunned at what they were seeing.

Then, as one, the horde surged forward again.

The vorcha seemed to regain their purpose and ran, hopping nimbly over the bodies of their brothers without a moment's pause. The Suns shook off their disbelief and opened fire but their panic began to grow as they saw how little effect their weapons were having.

The vorcha staggered as slug after slug tore into them but they did not stop. They drew near with terrifying speed and Arlen's mouth hung open as he witnessed the infamous krogan blood rage first hand.

He lost sight of the Suns as they began to fall back in pairs. The manoeuvre was carried out efficiently, each team firing as the other retreated before switching roles, though they were clearly growing more anxious with every passing moment as the Blood Pack surged towards them.

‘They won't make it,’ Arlen murmured, utterly transfixed by the bloody spectacle.

As the words left his lips, his mouth remained open. A piercing screech rose above the roar of the onslaught and he suppressed a gasp as behind the Blue Suns, an enormous armoured vehicle drove into view.

Arlen knew the distinct profile of the Alliance Mako, though the vehicle had been modified beyond recognition. Extra armour plating had been crudely mounted and jagged, savage-looking spikes protruded from its front, ready to annihilate anything it ran down.

The vorcha slowed and some were trampled in their hesitation as the krogan renewed their rage and screamed their defiance.

When the Mako fired, it was like the breaking of a dam. Scorching torrents of fire ripped through the horde, the heavy rounds gouging a trench through the masses of flesh. Even the krogan masters looked at one another then, gauging their chances.

The retreating Suns, meanwhile, had stopped falling back and resumed their withering storm. Under the weight of fire, the Blood Pack slowly began to disperse, disappearing through side alleys, maintenance hatches, anything that would take them away from their impending death.

The vorcha scrambled to escape and Arlen winced as a large krogan tried to rally them only to fall seconds later, a sniper's bullet cutting a ragged hole through his eye.

In just moments, the street was clear. Frantic skittering cut the air but it quickly disappeared to leave only the lonely, palpable silence of the dead.

The ground was barely visible. Bodies littered the street in a field of red and brown. Something twitched but the motion was instantly lost in the mass, and Arlen grew increasingly anxious as the seconds stretched on. The stillness of the scene made every one of his own movements agonisingly obviously, no matter how small.

The Mako rumbled as it proceeded down the road slowly, flanked on both sides by the cautious infantry. Arlen ground his teeth in disgust as the tank reached the first of the vorcha corpses, which cracked audibly as they were ground under the heavy wheels.

‘Don't moves,’ Olansi whispered.

 _As if I need to be told,_ Arlen thought sourly.

The hum of the Mako was joined by the tapping of armoured feet as the patrol drew alongside the hidden agents. Arlen dared to let his eyes drift up and watched the nearest Blue Sun stroll past, his head twitching from side to side, scanning the environment with well-practised skill.

Only when the Mako had disappeared and the sound of its engine was a distant thrum did Olansi begin to shift.

The movement startled Arlen, who rose alongside him, stretching stiff muscles. He opened his jaw wide and dug his fingers in behind it, massaging the sore flesh. He still bore the injuries from his fight with Crixus but they would not slow him down.

‘So long as we can avoids the bulk of the hordes, we should be fine,’ Olansi said as he brought up his omni-tool, Not fars to go now.’

Arlen gave a brief nod. His heart still hammered in his chest with frightening force and his eyes constantly flickered across the ruined street, as if he expected the Blood Pack to return in a tide of angry, snarling maws.

‘Let's just get going,’ he replied, his voice dry and husky, ‘I don't want to stay in this district a second longer.’


	16. Chapter 16

Each breath tore through Arlen's lungs as he ran, his chest swelling painfully against his armour as he fought for air.

He jerked his head around in search of their pursuers before snapping back to Olansi, who did not seem tired in the slightest despite the punishing pace he was setting. Once again Arlen was struck by the fluidity of the Spectre's movements, of how little effort he appeared to spend in anything he did. Arlen felt all too ungainly and cumbersome by comparison.

Little exhausted a man as much as being chased and it felt like they had been chased across the whole of Torkessa.

‘For the love of the spirits,’ Arlen heaved, his voice rasping between jagged breaths, ‘How do you do it? I can barely stand anymore! I can't go on!’

‘Find a way, Interceptors!’ Olansi called back over a broad shoulder, ‘We won't lose them, now they have our scents!’

Even over his own heavy breathing, Arlen could hear the varren howling behind them. Their guttural snarls rose just above those of the vorcha to create a savage wail that echoed through the barren alleyways. He couldn’t remember the moment he’d heard Olansi cry out the alarm, nor the instant he whirled around to see the snapping jaws of varren, barely held in check by their krogan masters.

It did not matter. All that did was survival.

Arlen stumbled as his feet ploughed through a pile of trash, scattering foul detritus in every direction. The odour entered his nostrils in a sickly flash before it was forced out, every breath a searing burst.

Olansi glanced back and gnashed his teeth, irritated at Arlen's flagging pace. Despite despite the turian’s vital youth, he simply lacked the endurance to keep up.

Coming to a decision, Olansi raised his fist to call a halt and turned around, drawing his Tempest.

His eyes darted from side to side, taking in everything he could and his lips twisted in frustration. The alley was narrow and straight, with precious few corners to break line of sight with their pursuers. The Blood Pack were close, Arlen knew that much but they hadn’t yet caught up completely.

Olansi turned to the various doors lining the alley. Each could potentially lead to safety but the chances were equal that it could lead to a dead end, or worse.

‘All right,’ he announced, ‘if we're goings to stop then we need to find a place to holds them off or hide. We're only a hundred metres from the warehouse anyway and we can't breaks in there with a horde of Blood Packs on our trail.’

Arlen looked up, his emotions mixed. He did not see it as a tactical decision, rather physical weakness on his part but Olansi was right. At best they would alert the batarian warehouse owner, Bashik. At worst they could all become embroiled in the surrounding chaos and see any evidence Bashik held destroyed in the process.

Pulling himself upright, Arlen grasped his pistol and tried to gain control of his racing pulse.

‘Here,’ Olansi said, tossing him a pair of small silver discs. Each one was surprisingly heavy for its size and a green strobe light danced around their rims. ‘Remote charges. Set them up heres, I'm going to see if I can hacks one of these doors.’

‘Wait.’

Olansi looked up in surprise as Arlen laid a hand on his shoulder. The young turian's mandibles quivered with exhaustion but his eyes held a certainty that made Olansi wait for him to continue.

‘I have an idea,’ Arlen said, ‘Give me some cover.’

Hesitating for a moment, Olansi's mouth opened as if to argue, a reaction Arlen understood. It was almost impossible for an organic to hack a console faster than a salarian and when the Blood Pack found them, every moment would count. Still, something in Arlen's gaze made Olansi’s mouth close firmly and with a nod, the Spectre stepped aside.

‘Okay,’ Olansi replied as he took a knee at the other side of the alley, ‘but whatever it is you're plannings, make it quick.’

A loud snap tore the air above Arlen's head, a crack that made his ears ring. He ducked instinctively and his jaw dropped in horror as he saw their pursuers spill from the alley entrance.

The Blood Pack war band howled as they spotted their prey and wild shots pounded the walls around Arlen, kicking up splinters and clouds of chalky dust. There were too many vorcha for him to count, filling the alley to create a wall of squirming flesh.

Two larger, darker shapes moved above them. The krogan walked their varren in front, the beasts barely restrained by the thick chains around their necks.

Arlen felt fear gnaw at him as he turned back to his omni-tool, the device opening with a bright flourish and as he’d hoped, the spritely image of his asari AI flickered to life before him.

‘Petra? You realise what's going on, right?’

She nodded vigorously and her voice was filled with giddy excitement, ‘Of course, turian male, have been listening the whole time! Very exciting!’

Suppressing his annoyance at her obliviously light-hearted tone, Arlen entered a few short commands and established a hacking link.

‘Then you know what I need.’

The words had scarcely left his lips before the door lock blinked and chimed its approval. Petra grinned at Arlen sheepishly, her tiny form swaying from side to side in a gesture of calculated shyness.

Arlen barely controlled his shock enough to smile gratefully back at her.

‘Thanks. If you have any suggestions, just speak up. We need all the help we can get.’

‘All right!’ Petra responded happily, ‘First, get inside!’

‘When I said suggestions, I meant something besides the damn obvious!’ Arlen cried out as he threw himself over to Olansi.

The rifle slugs came thickly now, whipping through the air and smashing pieces of masonry over their heads. The shots lacked accuracy but such a thing only confirmed their enemy's intent; the Blood Pack wanted the pleasure of a close kill, where they could get bloody.

Olansi's eyes were narrowed in concentration as he squeezed off short bursts, but it was clear the horde cared little for losses. They drew closer with each passing second and Arlen could now see the look of terrible ecstasy on their faces as each one clamoured for their death.

‘Olansi! We're leaving!’ Arlen yelled out and the Spectre almost jerked back in surprise.

‘That was damn quicks!’ Olansi shouted, ‘Where the hell did you learn to hacks that fast?’

‘I'll explain later, just follow me!’

Olansi pushed himself from the ground and followed Arlen through the door, his face a mask of confusion. Behind them, a cry of anger went out as the Blood Pack watched their prey escape. The air was filled with the rumbling of their quickened pace but it was too late.

The door snapped shut behind Olansi and the horde roared their frustration. The sound was muted but Arlen and Olansi kept their weapons trained on the door all the same, tensing at the scratching of talons on the other side. After a few seconds, a deep voice barked at them to move on and Arlen allowed himself to finally relax.

‘Sounds like the krogans are forcing them on,’ Olansi murmured as he slowly lowered his weapon. Looking over his shoulder, he furrowed his brow.

The room they had stumbled into was dark and musty, the building seemingly empty.

Arlen stood hunched over his omni-tool. It was the only light source in the room and it flared wildly for a moment as Petra's voice emanated from within.

‘If you can find an operational extranet terminal or even router, I can get inside and help!’

‘Get _inside?_ ’ Arlen asked curiously, ‘You mean you can actually move through Torkessa's internal systems?’

Petra nodded. ‘Yes, they used to let me do so in lab, before they all left. I wandered when I was still young, still nothing except knowledge without memories or thoughts; and I was afraid. It was too big and I knew nothing, did not know what to do. If I went too far away they would pull me back in. Now, I think I can find things you need…show you the way.’

Olansi strode over to them, rubbing his chin. ‘So, that was it. You let your little AI helpers unlock the door. Not a bad tricks.’

‘Not a trick…’ Petra mumbled sullenly, ‘It was easy…’

Arlen glanced at Olansi. ‘If we can get her in the local network, that might make things easier for us.’

‘You really trusts that thing?’ Olansi asked suspiciously, ‘For all you knows, that's what it's been after this whole times - a chance to break loose.’

Arlen shook his head and Olansi spread out his hands, shrugging.

‘What? You've never heard of a big, scary AIs escaping into the extranet to terrorise the galaxy? I loved that vids.’

Arlen let out an annoyed breath. He did not appreciate the poor attempt at humour under such pressure but he appreciated Olansi’s caution, at the very least. They were running out of time and the use of an AI in such a way could never be anything less than unpredictable.

The thunder of battle erupted once more outside. It was close, giving Arlen even less time to think. Sighing, he shook his head.

‘I trust her.’

He could almost feel Petra's smile on him, and her voice rang out through the omni-tool speakers, ‘Thank you, turian male! I will do a good job for you!’

Olansi rolled his eyes but did not stop Arlen from making his way deeper into the building to search for an extranet port. The Interceptor paced paced between the deserted rooms, his gaze flicking from wall to wall as he searched for something Petra could use as an access point. A powered-down terminal, discarded by the former inhabitants provided a suitable inlet and Petra’s transfer took only a few seconds.

Arlen blinked in surprise as a set of harsh lights flickered on above him. The power had already been restored, and as with the door hacking he was truly impressed with Petra’s speed.

With a tired groan, a set of heavy shutters at the far end of the room began to move aside, spilling gold across the bare floor. Cocking his head slightly, Arlen moved to take a look and what he saw made his brow plates rise in shock.

Torkessa was crumbling. Large holes had been torn from the distant city scape and the fighting appeared to have solidified just ahead of their position. The road beyond the window was wide and sweeping, flanked by squat industrial compounds.

One structure in particular stood out; a sand-coloured two-storey building directly ahead, crested with giant fans and a glowing red sign. It could only be the Environmental Control Centre, and every inch of it seemed alive as dozens of Blue Suns readied themselves for attack.

Though Olansi could not make out the details from such a distance, it was obvious the Suns had stormed the ECC and were using it as a base of operations for the sector. Second-floor balconies were rigged with razor wire and mounted weapons while the very same Mako he and Arlen had seen earlier now rested in front of the entrance, packed tightly into place with sand bags and sheets of thick steel.

Like a storm, the Blood Pack horde rumbled as it drew near. They passed by the window, making Olansi shrink back into the shadow. Vorcha in their hundreds, perhaps thousands, swarmed towards the ECC while their krogan overlords roared their orders. This was where the battle would be decided and with a churning sense of horror, Olansi realised Bashik's warehouse lay in the very compound that housed the ECC. Cursing, he turned away to find Arlen. They needed another way in.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Captain Kirrahe was just what Garrus expected from an STG operator. The salarian was calm, his every movement performed with unerring balance and coordination. His green-tinted features were like a blank page; his lips did not smile, nor did his body language lose its air of complete severity. 

He seemed outwardly relaxed but his eyes shifted constantly, drinking in every detail of his surroundings with an unsurpassed level of awareness. Nothing would slip past him and even if Garrus had intended to turn him in for the embassy infiltration, he knew Kirrahe’s team would kill him without a moment's hesitation. Instead, he focused on the fact that he was as guilty as they were at that moment and to submit to any notion of duty would be foolish, not to mention suicidal.

The apartment Kirrahe had picked for a safe house was nestled deep within a salarian district of the wards. Occasionally a shuttle would pass by, sending shadows stretching across the walls but Garrus knew this was a quiet part of town. There would be no interruptions here.

Kirrahe cleared his throat. ‘Well, now we're satisfied you aren't currently under surveillance, perhaps out of courtesy I should explain our presence. This is your station, after all.’

Garrus dipped his head but remained silent.

‘We are on the trail of a man named Yanus. He's a heavy player in the black markets and criminal underworlds across the galaxy, taking many guises. He's been called an information broker, an arms dealer, even a war criminal; though the wars in question are many. Depending on who you ask, he's a billionaire, a smuggler, even a Spectre. What he truly is, no one can say for sure. He's a shadow in the purest sense of the word - impossible to track and harder even to catch. All we know is he's one of the most dangerous individuals in the galaxy, both directly and indirectly responsible for some of the most prolific acts of crime, terrorism and genocide in living memory.’

‘Including the Jamestown Incident?’ Garrus asked.

‘Including the Jamestown Incident,’ Kirrahe confirmed solemnly, ‘We know the basic facts surrounding the attack. A turian extremist group used a virus to send a human vessel off-course, forcing the Citadel fleet to destroy the ship. This weakens the relations between turians and humans, dredging up memories of a war that still generates a lot of resentment on both sides, a war that could easily reignite. We have reason to believe Yanus is involved.’

‘Wait,’ Garrus interrupted, using a hand to rub his tired eyes, ‘You're saying this Yanus is working with Krassus and the Legion? How? Supplying them? Training them?’

‘We don't know the extent of his influence but it certainly seems like just the kind of thing he would do, and by that I mean it isn't one of the few things he hasn't done already. But no, we have no conclusive proof, just scraps and circumstance. I suppose the Union, and by extension the Council, don't like Yanus because the man doesn't make sense. He has no discernible long-term goals, no motives. He will make a huge profit by selling arms to a batarian smuggling ring in the Traverse before sinking it all into supporting a failing krogan clan on Tuchanka. He's wild, unpredictable, and that makes our superiors nervous. We have to suspect his hand in this, if only to finally stand a chance of catching him.’

Garrus' throat tightened and his eyes shifted across the room. The rest of the STG team were relaxed, either sitting down to clean their weapons or watching the living room's vid screen while they waited for orders. He wondered if any of them felt the same sense of vertigo that he did, if anyone else felt so hopelessly lost.

He tried to hide the despondency in his voice, ‘You obviously think he's involved, or you wouldn't be here. For that matter, why sneak into the embassy in the first place? Do you suspect Udina of having links to this guy?’

Pausing, Kirrahe furrowed his brow, probably unsure of how much he could reveal. His team's sergeant had already expressed his dissatisfaction at allowing a witness to their incursion but Kirrahe had waved him aside. In the end, all Kirrahe offered Garrus was a firm shake of his head.

‘That's a little more than we're willing to tell you. There's a reason I haven't asked for your name, turian. That human saying, 'what you don't know won't kill you'? It works both ways. You need to know what I'm telling you but any more would be dangerous for both you and my team.’

‘You people are unbelievable,’ Garrus muttered derisively, ‘You claim to have information relevant to the Jamestown investigation but all I hear is a bunch of nonsense about someone who may or may not even exist. What you're saying doesn't make any sense. Why search the Citadel for the Forgotten Legion’s links to Yanus when they’re probably all the way out in turian space? Why risk sending a whole team into the embassy when one man would be able to get in and out without attracting attention?’

Clearing his throat, Kirrahe caught the concerned glance of his sergeant, Rentola. The man’s eyes were wide and his brow raised a fraction but Kirrahe rebuffed him with a slight gesture.

‘Very well,’ he replied at last, ‘If you must know, we were following a data trail, a series of bounced communications that began far outside Citadel space. Encrypted channels and networks, old comm buoys used by Yanus to contact his various agents and associates throughout the galaxy, all the tricks in the book. My team and I were expecting to trace them to a criminal den, perhaps a smuggler's warehouse out in the wards. That the trail ended in the Presidium, in the office of the human ambassador of all places, was a shock to us all and we couldn't risk sending someone in alone. For all we knew, Yanus could have had men lying in ambush. Such a thing has happened before, after all.’

‘You didn’t answer my question. Do you think Udina's dirty?’

Kirrahe continued carefully, ‘Not Udina himself, rather his predecessor. Ambassador Jung was a very interesting man, it seems. According to our files, he dabbled in activities ranging from extortion to bribery and even campaigns of intimidation. He consorted with human supremacist groups, most notably powerful industrialists with a lot of money and influence. The communiqués we unearthed originated during Jung’s term of office. The timing adds up, and our government has not had such a solid lead on Yanus in over a century.’

‘A century?’ Garrus asked, his voice heavy with disbelief, ‘Yanus has been around for that long?’

‘As has the Shadow Broker,’ Kirrahe answered quickly, ‘Make no mistake, only the name is truly immortal. Typically there comes a time when the motives of such individuals shift or their methods change, even if it is only subtle. Those are the times when you know the mantle has been taken up by another and the facade is broken temporarily. Yanus, however, has always remained constant but it was only a century ago that he came to our attention. Who knows how long he'd been operating under our radar before that?’

Kirrahe offered Garrus a glass of bright purple liquor, a turian spirit, judging by its aroma. Garrus clasped it with a thankful nod and tossed the cold liquid down his throat, enjoying the icy line it drew into his stomach.

‘So, where do we go from here?’ he asked cautiously, ‘You brought me to this place for a reason and something tells me if you were going to kill me then you would've done so by now.’

Kirrahe crossed his bony arms. ‘You know, you caught us by surprise when you broke into that office. At first we thought you to be one of Yanus' agents come to cover his tracks. It wouldn't have been beyond him to bribe a C-Sec officer into doing his dirty work.’

Garrus conceded the unfortunate fact with a small nod. Corrupt cops were a part of any force, no matter how well-run.

Kirrahe grinned slightly. ‘Not to mention it looked like you were searching for something yourself.’

Garrus stared into his empty glass, eyeing his own tired reflection. He did not know where to begin and his voice worked its way reluctantly from his throat.

‘Right now there are two investigations into the Jamestown Incident. One is Council-sanctioned, run by C-Sec's Joint Security Task Force.’

Kirrahe frowned. ‘The recent counter-terrorism initiative, correct?’

‘That’s right. Mobile field agents supported by a large dedicated support team.’ He considered mentioning Arlen specifically but thought better of it. ‘The other investigation is being carried out by the humans.’

‘To be expected. I don't think their kind would trust the Council if the galaxy itself were coming to an end.’

‘The commander of JSTF knows the Alliance isn't playing straight with us, that they’re withholding evidence crucial to the investigation. I was sent to plant the Mantius program, a cutting-edge piece of surveillance software, on Udina’s office terminal.’ 

‘Mantius - that’s a salarian program,’ Kirrahe remarked, ‘STG developed it many years ago. Planting it is no small task and the personal risk was great in breaking into the ambassador’s office. You must be extremely loyal to this commander of yours.’

Garrus snorted. ‘It was hardly my choice.’

He looked toward the nearby window, his face carefully blank. He could not tell them about Naris' death at his hands nor Chellick's deal to stop him receiving justice. He couldn’t tell them that he was little more than a puppet of the JSTF commander, all for the sake of his own tarnished honour.

Dejectedly, Garrus flexed his mandibles and pushed his glass back over to Kirrahe, who refilled it without hesitation.

‘I'm just paying for my own mistakes,’ Garrus murmured as he snatched up the glass again, ‘Sometimes it's easy to forget about your own problems when there's something going on that's so big, it seems like it could swallow you whole. Those problems are still there, though, always waiting for you when you return.’

‘Sometimes it seems much easier to run,’ Kirrahe replied knowingly, ‘but nothing good ever comes of such a reaction, no matter how impossible the odds. Sometimes you must hold the line; both in war, against the enemy and in your heart, against your own doubts and misgivings.’

As the turian liquor burned in the depths of Garrus' stomach and softened his thoughts, he bobbed his head in agreement. The movement was sluggish as the alcohol took hold of his senses but he forced his mind to retain everything that had been said.

Sergeant Rentola gestured to Kirrahe, drawing him across the room. Garrus watched them with indifference as they held a hushed conversation. Events were moving far too quickly for him to keep track and nothing the salarians could do would surprise him at that moment.

Another shuttle passed by the apartment and the shadows reached out once again, as if to snatch Garrus away and carry him into the gloom. Every second seemed to hang in the air as the STG members murmured to one another.

Garrus' eyes drifted to the windows and the city beyond. Above the dark spires and towers, the distant ward arm swept up gracefully, meeting the other four to hold the surrounding nebula in a soft purple grip. It had become such a familiar sight to Garrus over the years that he’d forgotten how vast the Citadel really was. It was ironic that the only thing to make him feel smaller and more insignificant than the grand station was the crisis now escalating beyond his control.

After some time, Kirrahe returned and nodded stiffly. ‘We wish to make you an offer, turian. You have something we need in the Mantius program. The data uncovered could lead to Yanus and that possibility alone is worth any price. Perhaps we could even assist in your own dilemma, if you would allow it?’

Garrus breathed hard as he tried to force some clarity into his thoughts but the liquor had muddied them heavily. Perhaps that was their intention, he wondered, to render him more susceptible to bargaining.

Kirrahe frowned as Garrus suddenly started chuckling to himself.

_As if I needed to be convinced to screw Chellick over._

‘I'll give you what you need,’ Garrus said, ‘The Mantius program will link the ambassador's terminal to that of my superior, the one who sent me to break into Udina's office in the first place.’

‘And in turn, we will break into his,’ Kirrahe said with a flicker of a smile, ‘Espionage is never lacking in irony, I've always found.’

‘The information you want should be there, but in return for it I'll have to ask a favour.’

Kirrahe straightened and, for the shortest of moments, his own relief showed in the tension of his body. It was the sign of a man who was so achingly close to his goal that he could taste it.

‘Name your price.’

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

A trickle of warm, salty water rolled down Varn's mandible, making it itch unbearably. He could no longer tell whether it was his own sweat or the product of Zorya's crippling humidity but still, he did not move, no matter how infuriating his discomfort became.

Around him, the jungle buzzed with life. Birds and reptiles called their alien songs while the distinctive chittering of pyjacks echoed from a nearby grove. Their cries were lost in the dense foliage that bristled around him with an energy all of its own.

The jungle was unlike anything Varn had seen in all his years travelling the galaxy. It felt so vibrant and busy, like a city born into the unspoiled wilderness, and even the soil beneath his fingers was rich and dark with life.

 _If it weren't so damn dangerous,_ he thought to himself amusedly, _I’d even consider settling here when the fight’s over_.

The tribune had been holding his position for over an hour, prone and pressing every inch of his body into the dirt. His squad did the same - ten of his best, all motionless and invisible beneath the overhanging ferns and branches that covered the side of the hill. They did not speak and the noise of the jungle hid their presence completely.

Slowly, Varn's eyes travelled to his front, where his arms were spread out, clutching his rifle. A long, snaking insect with more legs than he could count wound its way across the armour plating of his forearms and he stiffened instinctively at the sight of its bold red and orange colouration.

A bloodworm. Just the touch of the poisonous creature on his bare skin would burn like acid but he held his breath easily, waiting to see where it would go.

The air eased from his lungs as the insect slithered onto the ground and made its way further down the hill, and Varn felt warm pride swell deep within his chest. Such small challenges of discipline, such tests of nerve were like sweet wine to him. He’d always prided himself on his physical and mental endurance, on his resistance to pain and discomfort and nothing pleased him as much as proving his disdain for hardship.

A small flicker of movement caught Varn's attention and immediately, his gaze sharpened.

There, just to his front, from a thick mass of vegetation at the bottom of the hill a turian in murky green armour crept through the undergrowth.

There was nothing wrong with his movements as Varn assessed him with a professional eye, but the scout hadn’t spotted the squad of veterans laying in wait. He stopped and Varn's eyes narrowed with interest. The scout was being cautious and an inexperienced officer would have taken his hesitation as a signal to attack.

Despite the risk of discovery, Varn allowed himself a small grin. He was anything but an inexperienced officer.

‘All clear,’ he heard the scout say into his suit radio and, like a silent mist, an entire platoon of the enemy appeared from the jungle. They were formed in a staggered line but the steep hills on either side of their path would force them into a column. Varn had predicted it and sure enough, the formation slid into a long, jagged scar across the forest floor.

The turians shuffled onward, each one content and safe in the knowledge that their scouts were reliable. As the middle of the column crossed Varn's position, he made the decision to strike.

He stood abruptly, his rifle aimed at the men below. His squad rose with him, echoing his actions with fluid efficiency. Some of the enemy cried out in alarm while more simply dropped to the ground, their immediate-action drills taking control of their bodies as they registered the threat.

On the opposite side of the path, directly across from Varn's team, another dozen leapt to their feet, completing the pincer and throwing those below into utter panic.

One turian in particular stood out in Varn's eyes. A young centurion with white chevrons painted neatly across his armour stared in utter dismay, his body hanging limp with the shame of his team's defeat. He was barely an adult, with a fresh brown carapace and the traditional blue etchings of Palaven covering his cheeks and mandibles. His wide eyes remained locked on Varn as the tribune strode down the hill.

‘You have just been ambushed by a forward element of the enemy force, Centurion,’ Varn called out, his voice rising above the rustling of leaves and mulch, ‘Your platoon has suffered ninety-five percent casualties with seventy percent dead, the rest wounded. You have been taken prisoner and will soon be on your way to an Alliance facility for interrogation. Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

The young officer's lips moved but the only sound to emerge was a whispered, ‘How?’

Varn did not smile, in spite of the satisfaction he felt at his own triumph. This was a good soldier and a potential leader of men. Gloating at him in front of his own platoon would not help him grow stronger and would only serve to undermine his authority in the future.

Varn forced a stern tone as he reached the path, ‘Dismiss your men and we'll discuss what you did wrong on the way back to the compound.’

As the centurion turned, Varn's suit radio beeped and he cursed mildly. He had given express orders that he was not to be disturbed during the exercise.

The centurion noticed his irritated scowl and dared not show his curiosity as Varn's face lifted into a look of mild surprise.

‘Centurion!’ Varn shouted, startling the young man, ‘Change of plan. General Krassus has arrived to inspect the men. Have both platoons form up and present arms.’

‘Yes Sir, but...’ the centurion began nervously, ‘I can only see two of your squads.’

Smiling, Varn raised a clenched fist into the air and the centurion's jaw dropped as the remaining two squads sprung up from the ground from only feet away, completely surrounding the two officers.

The centurion was stiff with awe and barely managed to bark out his orders to the rest of the men, who shuffled into rows with well-rehearsed precision.

The jungle grew quiet, as if in obedience to Varn as he strode down the roughly-hewn path. His creamy ridges glistened with moisture as he walked and every few moments he shook his hand to flick away the buildup of condensation on his armour. Perhaps he would have to think twice about settling on Zorya in the future; it was not only dangerous but too damn wet.

He stopped, drawing himself smartly to attention and waited patiently as a dark shape moved down the trail ahead.

General Krassus' ashen skin flickered between the leaves as he approached. He looked anxious, his jaw set and his darker-hued neck muscles bunched with tension.

‘Sorry for the disruption, Avitus,’ Krassus said, though he had been a leader far too long to make the apology sound like anything more than a formality, ‘There's been a development. Come on, I'll explain on the way.’

The two turians walked side by side down the trail and Krassus began again immediately, his voice hovering on the edge of fury, ‘It's Vastra. He's gone dark. I ordered him to return after he left Jump Zero but since the initial mission report, nothing. Not a word, not a signal, not even a damned message to explain himself. As if we didn't have enough troubles, now we have senior officers going AWOL when we need them the most, disobeying their orders like they were nothing.’

‘Are you sure he's still alive, Sir?’ asked Varn.

Krassus hesitated as a number of possibilities raced through his mind, but shook his head after only a few moments.

‘The humans couldn't have caught up to him, not yet. It's far too soon. Even if they knew who he was, they'd need at least three days to track him down. Still, they'll be close. That's why I asked that stubborn son of a varren to get back here as quickly as possible, to avoid any possible security leaks. Hell, I recalled everyone back to Zorya after the mission's success and he's the only one missing.’

Varn eyed the canopy overhead, allowing brief sparks of sunlight to fall over his vision as they passed beneath the cracks in the lush green ceiling.

He did not like the thought he was about to voice but he was nothing if not realistic, ‘Sir, do you think he knows too much?’

Krassus glanced at his Second. ‘I don't know, I...yes, yes, I suppose he might. He knows the location of our base, our command structure, even our patrol routes and supply lines. What are you thinking, Avitus?’

‘I don't like thinking ill of a fellow soldier, an officer at that,’ Varn said slowly. His mouth moved slightly, as if tasting his next words on his lips. ‘But he holds information that could lead the Council directly to us. Given our location, the Alliance would have the freedom to send everything they could if they knew where we were - cruisers, marine battalions, anything they could pull together. Our greatest strength right now is their belief that we may lie in an area they can't hit with any amount of force. Our only weapon is secrecy and Vastra has the ability to take that from us, whether he turns of his own will or under torture.’

Stopping for a moment, Varn met Krassus' gaze with hard eyes.

‘Sir, we need to retrieve him or silence him. Only one or the other will do.’

Krassus winced and Varn understood his hesitation. Coleran Vastra was one of the Legion’s most experienced men and had been a fellow architect of the Seventh Exodus itself. Varn recalled his exceptional engineering skills during the Relay 314 Incident, and then his brave actions during a battle with a pirate group many years later. To think that they may be forced to kill such a trusted subordinate was like bitter acid in his stomach.

Still, there was another force at work here. The circumstances were exceptional, and so had to be their responses when those circumstances changed.

However, as Krassus tried to summon the strength to give the order, the energy bled from him visibly.

Varn read the subtle shift in his friend's eyes and spoke loudly, his voice rimmed with anger, ‘It's him, isn't it, Sir? You're afraid of what Yanus will do if you disobey him.’

The general bared his teeth, unable to stop his rage resurfacing at Varn’s accusatory tone.

‘That's none of your concern, Tribune! My authority is what counts here and you _will_ follow my orders without question, no matter whom or what is involved. Do you understand?’

‘Then what _are_ your orders, Sir?’ Varn asked. His body shook and only the long-fostered loyalty to his commanding officer held him in check.

Krassus blinked at the question. ‘What did you say?’

‘You ask me to follow your orders, Sir, and you know that I will. I, along with every man in the Legion, will follow you to the letter. That is not in question, nor has it ever been. So what are those orders? Do we let ourselves be cowed and humiliated? To be used and thrown away by someone who doesn't even share our blood? Or do we stand for what we know is right? Follow our own path as we’ve always done since Shanxi? What are your orders, Sir?’

Varn had always been this way. The tribune's anger was not directed at Krassus or his leadership, of that both men were aware. Krassus was a proud leader, always had been, but Varn had made sure he could always be counted on to remind the old general how to walk their path whenever he strayed.

Krassus let out a long, tired breath. ‘I'm afraid I can't allow any man to leave this planet without my knowledge.’ His lips lifted gently into a wry smile. ‘My orders are clear, are they not, Tribune?’

Varn nodded his understanding and the anger leeched from him. Slowly, he relaxed and managed to return Krassus' grin.

‘As crystal, Sir.’

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Dust fell from above as another explosion shook the tunnel, coating Arlen's fringe with a membrane of grit.

He barely felt it. Instead, his eyes strained to penetrate the darkness beyond the omni-tool's flashlight.

‘Nearly there,’ Petra said.

Her voice echoed down the length of the tunnel and Arlen winced instinctively as he listened to the rumbling battle raging above their heads. To be discovered in that narrow space would mean their deaths.

He squinted as he tried to gauge the distance ahead of him but the darkness swallowed his vision after only a few feet. The cylindrical stone walls around him were damp and slick with a pungent filth that made his head swim. His legs, already exhausted, now screamed in agony as he was forced into a crouch by the tunnel’s low ceiling and he clenched his teeth against the pain.

Behind him, Olansi grunted in disgust and looked down lamentably at his boots.

‘An Omega sewers. Of the places in the freakin' jerk-off galaxies, I end up in an Omega sewers. Who or whats did I piss off in a past lifes to deserve this?’

‘Petra says these tunnels link nearly every major industrial building in the sector,’ Arlen replied, ‘It's the fastest way to Bashik and considering what's happening topside, I think we're better off.’

‘Speaks for yourself,’ the Spectre muttered, ‘These boots are ruined.’

‘Salarian male needs to stop complaining!’ Petra chided from Arlen's omni-tool, ‘Smelly it may be, but only way to warehouse! I saw from security cameras still working, lots of bad men around up there.’

Olansi scowled at her. ‘Bad men I can deals with but I won’t be able to gets boots like these again!’ He made a rough, hacking sound deep in his throat. ‘This place smells worse than anywheres I've ever been. If I didn't know any betters, I'd say Little Miss Synthetics here took us this way just to see me wallow knee-deeps in vorcha shit.’

‘Maybe I did!’ Petra yelled back, ‘It's only what mean salarian male deserves!’

‘Enough!’ Arlen snapped. He glanced around him, keenly aware of how vulnerable they were. ‘This isn't the time or the place. Olansi, if you're so worried about your boots then take them off. Petra-’ He paused as the absurdity of scolding a computer hit him. ‘Petra, just concentrate on scanning the area ahead. You say you have access to the sector's security monitors?’

‘That's right, turian male. Warehouse is up ahead, detecting at least five signals inside. I can see exterior camera feeds looking at the building but the windows, they are all blocked up. Can give you locations of hostiles based on seismic and air pressure readings, though!’

‘You can do that?’ Arlen asked, ‘How?’

‘Omega is old mining station, silly turian male!’ she responded cheerily, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world, ‘Nearly all buildings here filled with seismic sensors, humidity sensors, sensors for everything! Hard to get clear picture of who is who but I can at least give you basic idea!’

Arlen smiled gratefully. ‘That's more than we could've hoped for without you.’

‘Yeah,’ Olansi agreed sarcastically, his old humour poking through the grave mask he’d been wearing since the mission began, ‘It might even be worth smellings like an elcor's backsides for the rest of the decades!’

Arlen ignored him and continued to trudge through the foul grime, each step filling the air with thick, nauseating sloshing.

It did not take them long to reach their destination. The tunnel widened into an open conduit dotted with ladders, each one leading to a different part of the industrial complex. Petra directed them to the correct one and Arlen paused before ascending, keeping one hand on the rungs as he shone the omni-tool towards the top.

‘Where exactly does this lead, Petra? Does it go right into Bashik's warehouse?’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ Petra answered, ‘According to local blueprints, should be service bay thirteen-beta. Room is empty, seems hostiles are focused on defending building against people outside. Have isolated one target in upper floor office.’

‘Probably Bashik himselfs,’ Olansi murmured, ‘Safest part of the buildings. How do you wants to play this, Interceptors?’

Arlen looked at him curiously. ‘You're letting me decide?’

‘I figure I'd give you the opportunity to take down your first targets,’ the salarian laughed heartily, ‘I'll be more than happy to handles the grunts, especially in close quarters.’

Puzzled, Arlen regarded the Spectre's change in manner once more. The single-minded intensity that had carried them through the war-torn Torkessa streets had faded to reveal a comfort with their situation that Arlen could not fathom. Olansi's head no longer jerked in response to every sound, nor did his eyes constantly search every corner for danger. He had even holstered his Tempest. In spite of the odds, he seemed completely relaxed.

Olansi sensed Arlen's confusion and took a step towards the ladder. ‘How abouts I go first, mm?’

After a moment's indecision, Arlen gave way and Olansi scuttled quickly up into the shadow. A dim blue disc slid into view at the top and his dark shape disappeared.

Arlen followed, keen to see why the Spectre had insisted on taking point. He straightened as he climbed out of the hole and cringed as he sniffed the air, fearing their atrocious smell would betray them.

Olansi showed no such concern as he checked the small room they had emerged into. Though it was large, the service bay was crammed with shelves and boxes of junk. Weapons, omni-tools and medigel crates lay beside racks of OSDs and wads of thick cabling. Stained containers of packaged foodstuffs sat next to luridly-coloured vials of potent alcohol while only a few feet away were stacked enough packets of red sand and hallex to ensure any C-Sec officer a promotion if seized.

‘These must be Bashik's goods,’ Arlen whispered, ‘I can't even imagine what the narcotics alone are worth.’

‘This is just crap,’ Olansi scoffed as he neared the only door to the bay, ‘The real treasures will be guarded by its owners. Don't get distracted now.’

Irritated by the unnecessary advice, Arlen brought up his omni-tool with a mild scowl. ‘Okay, where now?’

‘Three hostiles in next room,’ Petra replied, ‘Two in room beyond that. Stairs to upper floor also in next room, office is left of stairs when you reach the top. Restroom is on right, just in case you…’ She trailed off as Arlen's glare intensified. ‘Never mind.’

‘All right!’ Olansi announced clearly, his hand resting above the door controls, ‘You ready, partners?’

Arlen moved to the other side of the door. He held his pistol firmly, taking comfort in its weight. He did not know why Olansi had put his own weapon away but he did not question the Spectre. He knew what he was doing.

It was then Arlen noticed the gunfire coming from the room beyond and his instincts snapped into place. As when he first faced Crixus, and when he stormed the militia checkpoint hours before, time slowed to a crawl. Sound became distant, as if his head were submerged in water and he became completely aware of every knot of pain, every itch and prickle on his skin.

As his breathing steadied, Arlen nodded. The door opened and Olansi was the first through.

The next room was long but narrow, and the three batarians were arrayed along the left edge, every one manning a window and firing from it in ill-disciplined panic.

Olansi moved instantly, flowing like a trickle of water along the ground and Arlen lowered his weapon in amazement.

The first batarian sighted the Spectre too late. He turned only to have his weapon knocked from his grasp and his head twisted sickeningly to the side as Olansi landed a flurry of strikes, each one a mere blur. The body had not even touched the ground before Olansi was upon the second.

He moved like nothing Arlen had ever seen. The speed of his hands and feet could barely be followed by the naked eye and the second batarian was felled with a single punch to his abdomen. As he slumped over, the third hostile reacted. He yelled in horror, his rifle swinging towards them.

Olansi did not even blink. He gripped the second batarian as he fell and thrust the limp body into the path of the third. The shots were fouled and the body shuddered as the slugs hit it, sending bloody fragments of ceramic plate in all directions.

From behind the shattered corpse, Olansi sprung. The final batarian's weapon was knocked roughly aside and he shook convulsively as he was pounded by a smooth, flowing series of blows.

Grinning, Olansi thrust his palm hard below the man's jaw, snapping his helmet back with a dull crack.

The batarian dropped to the ground and the Spectre grinned as he saw Arlen's shocked expression.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he called out, clearly enjoying himself, ‘Your man's upstairs, Interceptors, go!’

Shaking himself out of his inaction, Arlen firmed his mouth and sped up a flight of stairs to his right. He could no longer feel the nagging ache in his legs. Every sense had been closed out except for the astonishment at seeing Olansi fight. Arlen had never seen such a martial art in his life and he burned with the desire to ask the Spectre about it.

 _No,_ he told himself firmly as he blinked hard, forcing every unnecessary thought from his mind.

Bashik was his target. Nothing else mattered until he had been taken into custody.


	17. Chapter 17

Alharu Bashik was a frightened man. 

All around him, his warehouse clattered with the sounds of battle.

The windows in his office had been barricaded more securely than the ones downstairs and while he appreciated the added safety at first, he now loathed every moment of being unable to see how the Blue Suns invaders were faring against Torkessa's Bood Pack militia.

Though he had brokered many deals with the Blood Pack, he knew the Blue Suns would be far more profitable for him and his enterprises. Their protection rates were fair and their presence meant regulated trade, growth and prosperity among the illicit dealers of Omega. The savage Blood Pack were generous to the few who could benefit them but their benediction was decided on a whim. At any moment, a ranking krogan could decide he wanted a piece of a local business and with an army of vorcha at his side, no one could refuse.

Before the Suns had pushed into the district, Bashik had found the wait to see a change in the ruling regime unbearable. Now, as the ground shook with the force of a nearby explosion he realised just how brutal the conflict he’d longed for was becoming, with his very life measured in minutes and seconds.

Swearing softly, Bashik shook his head. He was indeed a frightened man, and whenever he was frightened his mind would set to work, dissecting every facet of his situation to torment him with the worst possibilities.

Wiping his brow, he donned his helmet. The thick armour impaired his hearing but now that the war had reached him, he felt the need for its protection more than ever. Perhaps he should have joined his brother's raiding party, he reflected for a moment as another booming quake sent a trickle of dust from the ceiling. Attacking freighters and merchant vessels was a far cry from Torkessa's chaos but at least his sibling had a better chance of drawing breath by the night's end.

'Damned krogan won't be satisfied until they blow up Omega itself,' Bashik muttered under his breath as his thoughts swam, 'and where the hell are those morons? They should've reported in by now. Every five minutes I told them, every five minutes...'

The silence of his guards did not strike him as especially odd. The ongoing battle would hold their attention and he would rather they kept their minds on protecting his property above all else. But as ever, the idea that any one of his orders was going unheeded grated on his temper and with an angry growl, he strode towards his office door.

His rifle was slung across the back of his office chair, but he didn’t think to take it with him as he waved his hand across the door's controls.

A loud _thwack_ snapped through the air and Bashik's head reeled.

Someone had been waiting for the door to open.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen moved quickly as the batarian stumbled backwards. 

'Put your hands in the air,' he shouted, 'I said hands in the air, _now!_ '

The warning was lost on Bashik as he launched himself at Arlen. He ignored the Striker’s sharp reports as a slug skipped off his shields and it was too late for Arlen to fire again as Bashik crashed into him, throwing him off-balance.

The air was filled with exerted grunts and the scraping of armour on armour as the two men struggled against each other. Arlen braced himself, spreading his legs to take the weight of the batarian and his grunts rose in volume as he swatted away Bashik's squirming fingers, their search for a hold on his suit failing fast.

The stink of Bashik's breath was hot on his face, filling his nostrils with the stench of rotting meat and strong alcohol. It was a moment of cruel absurdity. Next to the ease with which Olansi subdued the batarians below, Arlen was fighting to simply stay on his feet. Bashik was strong, a bull of a man, and well armoured from head to toe. The young Interceptor felt a pang of despair as his feet slipped backwards.

His elbow flicked out in reflex, catching Bashik on the side of the head. The batarian grunted in pain and responded with a wild swing, his fist arcing clumsily through the air in a dark blur.

Arlen parried easily but the weight behind the blow was still great and it sent him back into the wall. Bashik saw the moment of weakness, and yelled out furiously as he charged forward.

An image flashed before Arlen's eyes, one of a bloody turian with crimson markings. Pale grey smoke danced around him, and he held Arlen's weapon in his hand as blood drooped in seething threads from his mouth.

Fuelled by that lingering memory, Arlen’s expression firmed and he shifted his weight roughly to one side.

Bashik cried out in surprise as he lost balance and staggered into the wall, bringing a ripple of dust down from the ceiling. He shook his head clear but Arlen did not wait for him to recover. The Interceptor kicked out at his legs, collapsing him onto one knee and with a snarl of effort, Arlen groped at Bashik's helmet. The batarian roared in frustration as he felt the prying fingers at his neck.

Arlen gnashed his teeth in concentration. While his opponent was fully armoured, he would stand little chance of winning and he reached for the release catches with desperate fervour. Bashik batted at his fingers but it did no good as with a quiet hiss, the helmet slid free.

'I'm going to kill you, you-' Bashik's voice turned into a pained yelp as his own helmet connected, cracking against his skull. He swore loudly but again was savagely cut off.

Arlen used the helmet as a club, swinging it with increasing force. Bashik grunted with each impact before finally raising his protected arms to absorb the blows as he rose from the ground.

Discarding the helmet quickly, Arlen shuffled back as Bashik swung again and again. Each strike was pushed aside as Arlen began to find his rhythm, and the turian's fists licked out to catch him on the jaw in rapid succession. Each punch made Bashik angrier, and the angrier he became the clumsier his efforts grew.

Sweat began to seep through Arlen's thick skin, making his wounds sting. The pain kept him sharp. He swatted aside a lunge to grab Bashik by his collar and slam his face into the desk, smashing several of the OSDs and spattering the surface with blood.

Still Bashik did not tire and his hands reached for Arlen's throat. Arlen was forced against the desk and his fingers found something loose and hard on its surface.

With a cry of rage, he lashed out with it and blinked in surprise as glass shattered, and a puff of red dust enveloped Bashik's head.  The batarian cried out in agony as the red sand entered his gaping cuts, and he gripped his face in terror as he sank to the floor.

His body still shaking with adrenaline, Arlen had to force himself to stop. His breaths came in ragged heaves and he blinked away the blood that had splashed across his face. For a brief moment he worried that he might have killed Bashik but the low, pathetic moan that begun moments later assured him otherwise.

'Should've just put your hands up,' Arlen muttered as he kicked aside the helmet that had fallen at his feet. It skipped across the ground, smearing a trace of brown ichor across the floor. 'Come on. We have a few things to discuss.'

Bashik groaned as he was hefted to his feet. The helmet had broken the skin of the his forehead into gory tatters and one of his upper eyes was swollen to the point of closing. Blood seeped from his mouth and Arlen thought he saw the jagged glint of broken teeth.

With a grunt, he pushed Bashik into his own office chair and pulled the desk aside with a grating scrape.

His foe had seemingly given up. All four of Bashik’s eyes were downcast and his head lolled with every breath as the red sand began to affect his senses. Unconsciousness was near and Arlen prayed to the spirits that he could still be of some use.

'What...what do we have to discuss, turian?' Bashik spat blearily. Blood curdled around the corners of his mouth and his voice gurgled slightly as foul fluids were pushed from the depths of his throat.

'You have information I need, Bashik,' Arlen replied as he perched on the edge of the desk, 'A year- Hey!’ he shouted as Bashik’s head slumped, the red sand taking his senses.

Arlen reached out and slapped the man’s fleshy jowls. ‘Hey, listen to me! A year ago you were supplied with a package from an Omega-based company called Bithcon Dynamics. The package contained a key component of a weapon that was used in an attack on the Citadel less than forty-eight hours ago.'

'The Citadel?' Bashik narrowed his eyes, 'So what does that make you? A Spectre?'

'I'm not with the Spectres. My name is Agent Arlen Kryik, I'm working for Citadel Security.'

The batarian laughed suddenly, the sound a hacking, pain-laced bark.

'C-Sec? Are you kidding me? You have no authority here, no jurisdiction. If anyone finds out the Council have been sniffing around the Terminus Sys-'

'You'd rather the humans bring a fleet?' Arlen interrupted angrily, 'You think they would've stopped to question you like I'm doing now? You might not hold any love for the Council but they're hardly your biggest concern right now. We know you sent that package out to the Citadel a week ago. We have the name of the recipient and the company that provided it to you. All we need now is the final piece of the puzzle. I know you're just the middleman in this. I know all about the Forgotten Legion and if you give me the information I need then I can make sure you're treated fairly. More importantly, we can make sure the humans don't get their hands on you.'

Bashik's head hung forward for a moment and his brows twitched in thought. He seemed surprised that Arlen hadn’t put a slug through his skull but, for the time being at least, he was content to indulge his captor.

'Yeah,' he finally replied, 'Yeah, I am just the middleman. I know exactly what you're talking about. It was a piece of tech, something that looked like it was ripped out of some kind of computer. It was old, I know that much, something I've never seen before, at least not in the Terminus. It was salarian, I think.'

'Salarian?'

Bashik nodded. 'Those guys have a knack for tech. Even something twenty years old like that beats the crap out of anything the Hegemony pushes out. Again, I don't know exactly where it came from but the signs were pretty obvious.'

Arlen considered the revelation. The strange, unrecognisable symbols that cycled during the false bomb's final countdown; could they have been native salarian numeric? It was worth mentioning to Lina and Chellick.

'So what then?' he asked.

'I was told to send it to the store on the Citadel but that's all I was asked to do.'

‘By who?’ Arlen leaned closer, his eyes locked on Bashik intently.

The batarian chuckled, shaking his head. 'I can't tell you that, turian. Do whatever you want to me. It won't be half as bad as what _he_ will do if he finds out I betrayed him.'

Arlen sucked in a shallow, frustrated breath through his nostrils. 'We can protect you, Bashik. Tell us what we need to know and C-Sec can guarantee your safety.'

Again, Bashik let out a short, incredulous laugh. 'You can't even protect your own precious Citadel! What hope do I have? You can't shield me from Yanus, turian, and even if you could I don't have anything for you beyond that name.'

'Yanus, is that his name?' Arlen whispered, 'What about the Legion? What about General Krassus?'

Slumping, Bashik shook his head. 'I don't know who that is. I only had contact with a man named Yanus, or rather an agent of his. I've heard of the Legion, but only the usual rumours that surround any group like that. I know they're turian, anti-human and tough as old starship plating. Even been some talk of a few batarian groups considering an alliance, given their success against the humans. After the attack on the Jamestown, I think those requests will only increase.'

Arlen swore inwardly. While the batarians held no love for any of the Council races, certainly they would be drawn to those with a common purpose. If the Forgotten Legion continued its campaign of terror then the spirits only knew who else would flock to their banners. Either way, it could only spell disaster for humanity.

Another booming explosion shook the floor beneath Arlen’s feet and his eyes flickered up to the windows. The crudely-welded barricade rattled violently and a film of metallic shavings fell from its edges. He turned his eyes back to Bashik.

'Do you always work this way? Without knowing who or what you're dealing with?'

'It's the only way _to_ work,' Bashik replied, 'The second I start asking questions is the second people start thinking I know more than I need to. When that happens, those same people start wanting to make me forget; the hard way.' He glanced aside for a moment and spat blood on the rough ground, though most of it was caught by the collar of his armour. 'I don't have anything for you, turian. Nothing you promise will change that. All I can tell you is the name, and I'm only giving you that because the son of a whore brought-'

Bashik stopped suddenly, though his cracked lips continued to move, as if his body was struggling to catch up with his mind. His better judgement was clearly taking control of his tongue and Arlen caught stood upright, sliding smoothly off the desk.

'Brought what?' he pressed, 'What did Yanus bring?'

'He…' the batarian began. He cringed, both against pain and indecision. 'He...warned me about all this. About the war on the streets, about the Suns, everything. He might've just found out through an informant but the timing…my gut tells me he had something to do with all of this. He told me to destroy everything in this warehouse and run.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Because this is my life!' Bashik yelled, 'Everything I have is in this damn building. Everything I've built, everything I've won, all my years of hard work and he wanted me to burn it all and flee!' His expression hardened. 'I told him to go to hell. Nobody forces me from my home and nobody makes me give up my business. I survived the black market competition, before that the Anhur Rebellions, I _will_ survive this!'

It was then Arlen realised Bashik was not talking to him, instead choosing to scream his defiance at anyone who would listen. Arlen was hardly surprised. With the amount of narcotics flowing through his system, it was a wonder Bashik was still conscious.

Arlen gripped his chin thoughtfully. 'You must have something on Yanus, something that can incriminate him. Why else would he demand you destroy everything?'

Bashik shifted and ran a hand across his forehead. The action left a murky smear of blood across his skin but he did not appear to notice.

'Yanus is a user. He thinks everyone he deals with exists only to obey him. He's powerful, turian, powerful and clever. Usually that's enough to make those notions a reality. I think if I really had something that could damage him then I'd be dead already.'

Arlen nodded with more confidence than he felt. He’d come to find General Krassus and once again had been faced with another dead end.

His thoughts were interrupted as the office door opened. Olansi strode into the room, a crooked smile plastered across his broad face.

'Well, looks like you got your man, Interceptors!' he said, spreading his arms out in congratulation, 'Kudos to you! Now let's get to works.'

Arlen turned to him, comfortable with having the unrestrained Bashik at his back. He did not doubt Olansi could break their suspect in half before he rose from the chair if he was foolish enough to try anything.

'I've already questioned him,' Arlen explained, 'He knows nothing about Krassus or the Legion. Instead he talked about someone named Yanus.'

Olansi became very still at the name. His smile lessened and his eyes moved as if in deep thought. No one spoke and the din of battle pressed in on the room, until the Spectre finally answered.

'Yanus. Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long times.'

'But you _have_ heard of him?' Arlen asked hopefully.

Olansi's smile took on a bitter twist and he shook his head slowly. 'That's all anyone has ever done; heard of him. Something of a legends in the world of espionage, that one. The most reliable accounts puts him as an information brokers, though much more...hands on than most in the business.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'll tell you laters,' the Spectre said, raising a hand dismissively before nodding towards Bashik, 'The real issues right now is what to do with him.'

Arlen exhaled deeply. Bashik was his first apprehension but he had no idea how to exfiltrate him. 'I was hoping you'd be able to help me with that. It's possible he knows more about Yanus but I can't be sure. We need to get him back to JSTF for a proper interrogation. If anyone knows where to find Krassus, it's him.'

'Back to-' Olansi paused before splitting the air with a loud, sharp burst of laughter, 'Back to the Citadels? That's a good one!' Steadily, his grin subsided as he realised Arlen meant what he said. 'Wait...you're serious, aren't you?'

'Of course,' Arlen responded with a nod. He was relaxed now and casually checked his weapon before sliding it neatly onto his armour's holster catch.

He did not see Olansi's expression turn to one of disbelief, and was taken aback as the Spectre laughed again, this time without a trace of humour.

'Ok then, well, let's get started right aways! Let's see, first of all we'll need to find a way to gets him back through this warzones, maybe slung over your back or carried in your big, strong arms! Then we needs to find passages back to the Citadel. Or do you think C-Sec will be able to come over and gives us a lift?'

'Well, what do you suggest?' Arlen snapped angrily, 'Because I didn't come all this way just to return empty-handed!'

'This scums,' Olansi spat, gesturing roughly to Bashik, 'is not your targets. The Council, C-Sec, nobody cares about him. You'll be dragging him back and wasting times for nothing. We can't let him go either. He could go runnings to Yanus or Krassus and any leads we could find would disappear in a flash. You have no options here, Interceptors. All you can do is get as much informations out of him as you can and puts him out of his misery.'

Arlen opened his mouth to reply but Olansi did not give him the chance.

'No. No more talks. We need to do this right here and now. This guys has something we need and we don't have times or the resources to cart him halfways across the galaxy!'

Bashik's eyes were wild as he turned to Arlen pleadingly. 'I don't know anything, I told you! Please! You said you'd help me!'

A dull thud smacked through the air as Olansi brought the back of his hand hard into the batarian's face.

'Nobody asked you, shit for brains!' the Spectre snarled, 'You'll gets your chance to speaks soon. In fact, I'm countings on it.'

Arlen took a step forward, his hands gripping the air convulsively as if to strangle it. He trembled with anger and shock at what Olansi was suggesting. It railed against everything he had been taught, everything he knew, and he would have no part of it.

'I won't do this,' he said quietly, 'He told me what he knew. I believe him.'

'Then you're a fool.' Olansi retorted immediately, 'Your missions could hinge on what this filthy degenerates knows and you'll let him escape because, what? You've had a sudden attacks of conscience? Because you looked into all four of his big, brown eyes and seen the truths in there? Grow up!'

Olansi paced back and forth, his hands moving as he spoke to drive his point into Arlen's head, 'If you aren't prepared to do this then leaves. I'll happily take care of this one for you but next time you'll have no one around to do your dirty works. Maybe then you'll have wished you had the stomach the first time rounds, when more lives than you can imagines are riding on your actions!'

Striding to the desk, Olansi brought his fist down upon another glass vial and it shattered with a splintering crack. The liquid inside was blue and oily in appearance but Arlen did not pause to study it. Instead he watched as Olansi traced through the broken glass with his fingers, the pieces clinking coldly until he brought up a jagged shard.

The salarian's face was unreadable as he approached their captive, the glass glinting in his hand. 

Bashik trembled in terror and his lips were quivering as he beseeched Arlen, 'Please, don't leave me alone with him! I'm begging you!'

A white and green blur moved through the air and Bashik flinched in anticipation of another blow. Another hard smack echoed through the office but nothing had struck Bashik. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

Dark fingers clutched Olansi's wrist. With a tight hold on his arm, Arlen stared directly at him. The Spectre met his gaze squarely and the two men simply stood, with only the pained, laboured sound of Bashik's breathing to break the silence. Neither moved and if Olansi was shocked or angry at the interruption, he did not show it.

Arlen's voice seemed louder than usual in the oppressive quiet, his every word deliberate and forceful.

'You might be a Spectre, Olansi, but this is _my_ mission,' he said, 'You might outrank me, but I'm telling you now, I will _not_ let you torture this man.'

His voice hung in the air as a whisper before another muted explosion stole it from their ears. The seconds stretched out until finally, Olansi relaxed and Arlen released him. The Spectre shrugged apathetically and Arlen turned away to consult his omni-tool.

'Petra, we're going to need a-'

An ear-splitting bang ripped the words from Arlen's lips and he whirled around, his mouth hanging open as he saw Olansi's Tempest drawn, its barrel smoking.

Bashik's head drooped for a moment before sliding to one side, and his body followed with a dull thump on the ground.

'You...' Arlen whispered, though he could not find the words he sought.

Olansi sniffed as he holstered his weapon. 'I told you. If we can't interrogates him then we needs to kill him. We can't risk leaks of any kinds. The seconds we left he could’ve contacted Yanus, or even summoned more of his men to hunts us down in revenge.'

'You don't know that!'

'Exactly!' Olansi shouted suddenly, raising a finger before him, 'We don't know that, but that doesn't means we can _risk_ it! This isn't a game, Interceptors. This is a mission, and it always, _always_ stands on a knife's edge, ready for an act of weakness to sends it crashing down. In an ideal worlds, every bad guy we meets would be polites and honest and we'd never have to worry about a slugs in the back or a knife at our throats. But if this was that kinds of a galaxy, then the Legion wouldn't exists in the first place and we wouldn't be crawling around the shittiest pits in Omega hunting them down. Sooner or later, Arlen, you'll have to takes that first step into this world. It might as well be sooner rather than later.'

A thin gurgling came from the dead heap at their feet as Bashik's final breath left his lungs. Arlen tried to control his spiralling emotions, to remember the lessons of his father and master himself, but nothing came. All he could muster was a single, unquenchable sense of disgust for the Spectre who looked back at him so calmly.

There was no pity or remorse in Olansi's dark eyes and for a moment Arlen wondered if he was any better than the savage gangs roaming the very streets outside their walls.

Finally, Arlen stepped past him, pausing as he reached the door.

'I'm not like you,' he said. 'I am an officer of Citadel law. I will never forget that.'

The sound of his footsteps disappeared quickly and Olansi was left alone. He dipped his head solemnly.

'We'll see.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The small room in which Chellick had chosen to hold his meeting was small and located below the command centre, deep within the bowels of JSTF.

It was not as spacious as his office and the air had quickly grown heavy and close with the presence of its three inhabitants, but at least there was little chance of being interrupted or overheard.

It was very dark, however and as the dawn hours of the third day approached, the room's dim lighting made Chellick's eyelids feel heavier by the moment. He had not yet slept since the morning of the attack and now felt his body protest every movement he made. Still, he did not let his weakness show and he raised his voice to compensate for the sluggishness of his thoughts.

'Obviously, this raises serious questions over Network's ability to protect Citadel Tower's systems against an internal threat,' he said as his eyes scanned a portable terminal on the table in front of him, 'I know this 'Jamestown Incident' has caught us all on the back foot, but these are only the kinds of questions that will be thrown your way over the next few days. What we need is a clear plan of action to present to the Executor on how to ensure this can't happen again.'

Captain T'Rana's blue skin was flushed with annoyance and the asari's neck pulsed gently as she set her jaw. Still, she did not argue. Instead, she tapped the keys of her datapad as if deep in thought.

The skin under her eyes was dark and puffy, Chellick noted. The strain was showing as much with her as anyone else but Chellick had known the woman since the day he joined C-Sec. He knew how determined she could be, though it was surprisingly difficult to keep his familiarity with her at bay, especially after seeing her so haggard.

'Very well,' she finally answered, her voice deep and strong, 'I think we can do something with the software based on what you've given us. That said,' T'Rana paused and glanced at Lina, who occupied the final place at the table, 'any help from your own people will be much appreciated. Do you have anything that could better protect our systems from this virus?'

Lina shook her head. 'At the moment, we're not even certain it _is_ a virus. Certain complications have arisen that throw all of our previous assumptions into question.'

Chellick had warned her not to mention Petra to anyone outside the upper echelons of the team, and she halted for a moment as she considered her next words carefully.

'Honestly speaking, I wouldn't even trust letting the hard drive it came in out of my sight at the moment, let alone releasing any part of the virus code from our quarantine network. Not for our sake, you understand, but for your own protection.'

T'Rana's lips pursed and retreated in a pout. She had worked in C-Sec's Network division for decades and Chellick knew she was unused to being rebuffed by anyone, let alone a ‘suit-rat’. Her cheeks twitched as she considered registering her displeasure, but held back long enough to smile bitterly.

'As you wish. Then I assume that you won't require my presence either? I have many pressing matters to attend to within my own division.'

Chellick leaned forward to prop his elbows on the table and he clasped his hands together thoughtfully.

'No, but I'll need proposals on my desk within twenty-four hours,' he replied, 'Protections, countermeasures, responses, anything your people can come up with. We'll also need anything you have relating to illegal AI research. Recent case files, reports, anything that might assist our field agents.'

T'Rana's features twisted into confusion. 'Artificial intelligence? What's going on here, Commander?'

'It's classified,' Chellick immediately answered, enjoying the look of further confusion that crossed T’Rana’s features. She had been a difficult sergeant to work under all those years ago and Chellick felt a perverse satisfaction in taking some measure of revenge.

T’Rana glared at him and folded her arms, creasing the dark uniform against the swell of her breasts. 'May I be frank, Commander?'

Chellick cleared his throat and bobbed his head. _This should be good._

T'Rana released her irritation in a hiss of breath from behind clenched teeth before going on, 'I've been in C-Sec for eighty-seven years. When they told me about the Joint Security Task Force, I thought the idea was a good one. I thought it made sense, to gather the best of C-Sec in one place, where the sharpest investigative minds in Citadel space could respond to threats to the Council instantly and with the bare minimum of supervision.'

She looked again at Lina, and her voice became a sharp hiss, 'Instead, I find you to be an elitist gaggle of outsiders, some of whom shouldn't even _be_ on the Citadel to begin with. You expect my department to release our resources, give you whatever you ask simply because you demand it?'

Chellick's reply was instant and calm. 'Of course. Your preconceptions of JSTF are not my concern, Captain. We operate with the full sanctioning of Executor Pallin and answer only to the highest authorities. You will grant us whatever we need not because we are fighting against a threat unlike any we've witnessed before, not because the lives of billions depend on our investigation, but because you have been ordered to. It's as simple as that. If you can't provide what we need, Captain, then I'm sure we can find someone who can.'

T'Rana took a deep, steadying breath before replying evenly, 'That won't be necessary, Commander.'

Chellick raised his brow plates slightly at the asari's measured response. The tension was clear in her voice, but it appeared that her need to vent her frustration had been sated and she rose from her chair gracefully.

'I'll have the reports sent over within the hour and look through any recent case files personally, but they'll take a little longer to sift through. Before I go, I'd like to ask you one more thing, if I may?'

'Is this a question I want to hear?' Chellick asked, half-jokingly.

T'Rana's eyes narrowed and her mouth spread into a subtle smile. 'What kind of ass did you have to kiss to get an Interceptor assigned to your staff?'

The question ripped every pretence of humour from Chellick's face. He became very still, unaware of the curious looks Lina threw his way.

'That isn't exactly common knowledge, Captain.'

'Oh come on, Chellick,' she continued, 'You know there aren't any secrets in this place. It's pretty much common knowledge that a kid straight out of boot camp had an Interceptor badge slapped on him and was made an agent without a shred of experience. It's gotten some of the Special Response guys in an uproar, you know, how some raw recruit gets a position that they've had to bust their asses for years to get. Not to mention that the kid himself will probably end up dead in-'

'He can handle it,' Chellick snapped, suddenly irritated.

Her smile widening triumphantly, T'Rana slid away from her chair and began to step backwards towards the door.

'You didn't tell him about his mysterious sponsor, then? That's interesting. What are you and Pallin protecting him from, I wonder?'

'That's enough!' Chellick said loudly, rising stiffly from the table. His voice receded to plunge the room into silence and Lina could only stare at them, visibly shocked by what she had heard and how Chellick had reacted to it.

A silence stretched, long and uncomfortable as each person waited for the other to speak. After a time, Chellick lowered himself slowly back into his seat.

'You're dismissed, Captain,' he said brusquely, 'If we need anything further, I'll be sure to let you know.'

T’Rana obviously knew better than to push him further, and she acquiesced with a polite bow of her head.

As soon as the door snapped shut behind her, Chellick let out an angry growl. 'Damn her. Just because she remembers assigning me duties from the roster ten years ago, she thinks she can speak to me like some snot-nosed recruit.'

'It's always hard to see people younger than you get promoted past you,' Lina offered, 'It's none of my business, I know, but you should just ignore her. You have more important things to worry about than one woman's spite.'

'That I do,' he replied quietly, 'Speaking of which, we have new intel. Arlen has done all he can on Omega. We received a coded transmission stating that he's en route back to the safe house as we speak, and he'll be back on the Citadel by tomorrow afternoon.' He stalled for a moment, suddenly aware that his perception of time had suffered in the long hours. 'Sorry, later today. He'll have the time to rest but we'll need him to be ready to move again as quickly as possible.'

'New information?' Lina asked eagerly, her own exhaustion forgotten.

Leaning back in his seat, Chellick inhaled deeply to conceal his own excitement. He hadn’t told her about the Mantius program, nor that it had been doing its work throughout their meeting with T'Rana. While the asari had busied herself with her posturing and complaining, Chellick’s terminal had been filling with information from Udina's office. Most of it was junk but a few choice pieces stood out clearly, not least of all the results of an investigation into the Jamestown's stop at Jump Zero.

'Yes. It seems that we have a new lead. A turian named Coleran Vastra, a high-ranking member of the Legion, is currently residing on Illium and isn't being too cautious in his movements. We'll need to get Arlen out to him immediately.'

Lina's fingers pressed against her hood. 'Is that wise? He's been through a lot already and we have other agents we can use.'

Chellick shook his head firmly. 'Not any that aren't on active assignment, and besides, after what Arlen pulled off in Omega I'd say he deserves a chance to get his hands on a genuine _HVT_.' He paused and a smile tugged at his mandibles. 'I don't think I'd be able to stop him, you know. He might be young and green but he has a fire in him, an eagerness that'll carry him to the ends of the galaxy. We need that kind of vitality if we're going to win this one.'

'I don't know,' Lina mumbled, 'I'm worried about him. It's a lot for someone like him to handle and, well...'

She trailed off and Chellick waved a hand to dispel her caution. 'He'll be all right. In any case, I need a mission dossier compiled for when he gets back. Can one of your team handle that? I know Milo seems quite competent.'

Lina fell silent for a moment and when she finally replied, her voice sounded oddly flustered, 'He's...skilled enough, yes and he could certainly do with something to occupy his mind a little. He did a good job covering my duties yesterday and I think he can handle the extra responsibility.'

'Good, I'm glad to hear the team's working well together.' Stopping for a moment, Chellick regarded Lina carefully. 'You too have shown a remarkable skill in handling your section and rest assured, once all this is over I'll be making a recommendation to Executor Pallin that you are granted an official rank within C-Sec.'

'A rank?' Lina gasped, a reaction that came as no suprise to Chellick. It was unheard of for a quarian to be involved with C-Sec beyond filling its overnight cells on charges of vagrancy. 'I- Thank you, Chellick. I promise you won't regret it.'

‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Chellick said, pleased with her response, ‘So, mission dossiers by the end of the day. We’ll need one for Keller too.’

'I'll get Milo on it right away,' Lina replied, unable to keep the excitement from her stride as she walked buoyantly out of the room.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The atmosphere was subdued inside the shuttle. It stank of something Arlen could not quite place and its fuel cells were almost dry, but Olansi was confident it would at least get them out of Torkessa in one piece.

Arlen was too exhausted to even consider finding another. That Petra had found it in Bashik’s barricaded vehicle bay was a stroke of luck in itself. The situation had been deteriorating rapidly by the time they left, with the Blue Suns' makeshift fortress beginning to crumble under the relentless weight of the Blood Pack onslaught. The sight of numberless vorcha clambering atop their own dead to scale the walls was something Arlen knew would be plaguing his dreams for a long time to come. He tried not to think about what would have happened to the mercs once the Blood Pack fought their way in.

For the first time, Arlen wished Petra was around. Seemingly drained by her efforts, the AI had retreated inside his omni-tool and had not been heard from since the shuttle took off.

Beside him, Olansi tutted. An enormous column of smoke barred the air in front of them and he was forced to swerve aside lest any contaminants find their way into the filters. As they passed, Arlen's eyes widened at the source. It was a gigantic fire, onto which several Blue Suns threw a steady stream of vorcha and varren corpses.

The mass of bodies covered the ground below like a twisted brown carpet, with the Suns moving between the rows like tiny white maggots. Three or four of them struggled with a krogan but even its huge bulk was tossed unceremoniously into the blaze. The carnage was astounding and made Arlen want to retch.

Olansi's head twitched in his direction, each second bringing a stronger urge to break the silence that had risen since Bashik's death.

'Hey,' the Spectre said tentatively, 'I just wants to say that it's a good thing.'

'What is?' Arlen asked sharply.

'You not wanting to kill that guy. Or interrogate him. Impractical, perhaps, but I'll never say that it's a bad thing to retain a traces of compassion, especially in a places like this.'

The quiet pressed on them again as Arlen digested the admission. Outside, the glowing haze that constantly bathed Torkessa faded to reveal the more familiar towers and suspended columns of Omega, each one speckled with hundreds of tiny lights. The last boundary of the vile district, the Blue Suns-held bridge, fled past them far below.

'I don't understand you,' Arlen muttered, 'One minute you're serious, the next you're back to treating everything like some lame joke. Back in that warehouse you barely said a word, then all of a sudden you're smiling again? Now you're trying to make nice after what happened with Bashik? What _are_ you?'

'You want the honest answers?'

Arlen nodded and Olansi shrugged his heavy, green-plated shoulders.

'Simple facts is, I'm just a soldier. One who's probably spents too many years in the fields, maybe, but a soldier all the sames.'

'What's that supposed to mean? Are you crazy?'

Olansi laughed. 'Oh I wouldn't say crazy, but I learned a long times ago that if you take these things too seriously then it's bad for your healths. Start feeling regrets, anguishes, all that stuff. Sometimes though, the old ways of thinking pokes through. Starts to get all moody, like when I was in STG. I wasn't any fun backs then. Mostly happens when I concentrates but then, when I gets in up close like backs in the warehouse, I can lose myself again.'

'So you act this way to help you forget?' Arlen scoffed.

'I know it sounds like an excuses, but hey, to each his owns, eh? Some guys likes to drinks, somes like to chokes on hallex. Me? I just likes to have a giggle from times to time.'

Arlen brought up his hands and used his thumbs to press the tiredness from his eyes. He should not have been surprised that someone like Olansi was as scarred internally as on the outside.

For a moment he wondered what horrific acts Olansi had committed or witnessed to force such a change in his personality but he quickly pushed away any questions he had. They were not his to ask.

'For what it's worth,' Arlen said, his eyes on the distant Omega horizon, 'I know you were right. About Bashik, I mean. I know we couldn't let him go or bring him with us. It's just that, well, it felt...'

'Wrong?' Olansi asked, glancing at him, 'Well, that's because it _was_ wrong. There was nothing rights about any of it. What you'll just have to get used to is that rarely will there ever be a rights thing to do, not in this lines of work.' The Spectre sighed quietly to himself. 'No harm in wantings it, thought.'

His voice held a note of longing and again Arlen looked him over. 'No. I don't think there is.'

The air had lightened enough for the silence between them to be comfortable as the shuttle carried them to their destination. The protected enclave containing their safe house seemed a world apart from Torkessa but still Arlen found himself twitching as he climbed out of the shuttle and onto the sturdy platform beneath. A footfall scraped across the ground nearby, making his head jerk around and his hand reached for his pistol until he realised it was nothing more than a passing resident.

He became dimly aware that his ears were still ringing and his mouth was still filled with coppery blood. The sudden calm was almost dreamlike.

Olansi sensed his melancholy and slapped a hand on his shoulder. 'Maybe you should get a showers before you head to the spaceports, eh? Perhaps a nap. Gives your mind a chances to catch up with your body.'

Nodding mutely, Arlen followed him down the street. He felt numb and every small sound was met with an instinctive pull as his survival reflexes began to bleed out. A shout went out between two friends nearby and he stiffened, expecting the snarl of a varren to lash out at any moment. When nothing came, he hung his head wearily and willed his mind to stop thinking.

When they reached the door of Arlen's apartment, he slumped against the wall for a moment and closed his eyes. His body was beginning to fail him and Olansi grunted as he pulled Arlen upright.

'Come on,' he hissed, 'nearly there.'

The door slid aside and Arlen's face lit up in surprise at the sight of Keller standing in front of them. The detective clearly had not slept in their absence, and dark circles stained the skin under her eyes.

Arlen opened his mouth to greet her but stopped immediately as he noticed her hard, angry glare. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and he knew better than to say a word.

The moment stretched out awkwardly. Arlen's lips moved subtly but no sound came from them and Olansi too kept quiet, oddly unwilling to disturb the sudden tension.

Keller's gaze remained on Arlen and for a moment he thought she would strike him.

Then, for just a heartbeat, her expression softened before her eyes closed firmly. She pushed past them, her footsteps echoing down the hall until she entered her own apartment further down.

Olansi gave Arlen a curious look before realisation gripped him.

'You...didn't tells her where you were going, did you?'

'I...' Arlen began, his mind in tatters. Every ache and pain seemed to merge into one, creating a backdrop for the sudden feeling of guilt that stabbed at his chest. 'I...knew she'd insist on coming if I told her. I couldn't live with myself if something happened. So I...'

'Oh boy,' the Spectre groaned as he clasped a hand to his forehead, 'You really messed up, Interceptors. Rookie mistakes number one, and I'm not talkings about in a professional sense.'

His senses awhirl, Arlen stepped groggily into the apartment. 'I know it was stupid but everything was so...unclear. I needed to focus on the mission and I knew I couldn't do that if she was in danger. I knew if I told her then I wouldn't be able to stop her from coming.'

'Well, leave it for now. You can apologise laters, after you've both cooled down.'

'What's the point?' Arlen argued. He staggered into the living area and sank into a nearby couch, his eyes falling shut immediately.

'I messed up,’ he mumbled into a cushion, ‘Detective Keller may hate me but at least she's alive.'

Olansi let out a deep sigh. 'So young after all. Very well, I won't spells it out for you. Just be ready to moves in four hours.'

Arlen mumbled something unintelligible as sleep took him and Olansi shook his head as he turned away. Briefly, the Spectre considered tracking Keller down and trying to soften the blow, perhaps try and excuse his young comrade.

 _No,_ he thought to himself firmly, _This is just another lesson the Interceptor has to learn._


	18. Chapter 18

**MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR**

***Episode Eighteen***

Olansi tried not to grin too widely as Arlen finally emerged from his apartment.

He could barely pick up his feet to walk and his eyelids were scored with lines of exhaustion deep inside their sockets. He tried to straighten as he shuffled clumsily through the door but failed, instead stumbling into the frame with a thud.

He propped his body against it and gave Olansi a sour, envious glance. By comparison, the Spectre was fresh and alert, and he beamed at Arlen with oblivious cheer.

'Well, well,' he chuckled heartily, 'at least you were awakes enough to get dressed, though I use the words loosely.'

Arlen looked down and frowned at his own appearance. His suit was creased and hung from his shoulders in a ragged mess. He hadn’t showered yet and felt the stench of Torkessa in every crevice of his body.

His state disgusted him but every second of the previous night had been spent in deep slumber, his eyes finally snapping open at the sound of his omni-tool alarm. Even then his well-ingrained discipline had faltered at first, and it had taken several minutes of goading from Petra to get him on his feet.

'Leave me alone,' he groaned, 'I'm allowed to stink a little after all we’ve been through. In any case, this is Omega, remember? I don’t think anyone’ll notice.'

Briefly clasping a hand on Arlen's shoulder, Olansi turned to pace down the corridor. 'Three hours sleeps should be more than enoughs for a young man like yourself, in the primes of his life.'

'That's easy for you to say. Salarians only need an hour at the most.'

'Nothing to do with biology,' Olansi laughed, ‘It's just old-fashioned grit. You either gots it or you don't and I knows for a fact you have it, so cheers up.'

Arlen sagged against the frame further. 'I haven't felt this tired in years. Is this what being a Spectre's like? Constant exhaustion?'

'If you're lucky. Usually you have to entertains a beautiful ladies in your bed after every jobs - if you believes the vids, that is. Again, that's another good thing about being salarians; no sex drive to distracts us!'

The last words were said with a wink and Arlen chuckled, shaking his head.

Olansi lowered his head, still smiling. 'In any cases, I saw Keller just now. She needs to gather a few reports together and then she'll be rights out.'

The mention of Keller sent a fresh wave of weariness through Arlen and he slumped again. The scant few hours rest he’d been afforded did not feel like enough and the thought of facing Keller's disappointment tired him even further. His mind and muscles ached with a force he had never known before, worse even than the gruelling endurance marches he’d faced in boot camp.

Forcing his head up, he asked the only question that was on his mind, 'Did she say anything about last night?'

Olansi shook his head and Arlen's jaw tensed, his troubled gaze turning to the ground. 'I see. Do you think I should try and talk to her?'

'I can't say,' the salarian replied, 'it's a delicate situations. It's obvious why she would be mad but I thinks it runs a little deeper than that. Either ways, it's none of my business. If I gots involved it'd just makes things worse.'

Footsteps broke through the conversation and both men fell silent as a small group of armed mercenaries marched noisily through the corridor. Their armour was a pale yellow, with a jagged, black sun symbol painted across the chest and shoulder. They held a cockier, less disciplined bearing than the Blue Suns Arlen had seen in Torkessa and he could practically see their arrogant stares through their blank yellow eyepieces.

The air grew tense as the mercs passed by and Olansi made a point of keeping his head down, as if in deference to them.

Despite his throbbing skull, Arlen almost laughed aloud. The Spectre could have destroyed them in mere moments if he chose, though Arlen knew by now that it was far easier to avoid unnecessary trouble if they could help it.

When he was certain the mercenaries were gone, Arlen levered himself from the door frame. 'Back when I questioned Bashik, he mentioned the name Yanus. It looked like you knew something.'

'Yes, that I do,' Olansi replied as he stroked his chin thoughtfully, 'but sadly, there's nothing I can tells you that you can't finds out with a quick trawls through the Union archives. We're certain the guy is salarians, possibly former STG. Was he always known as Yanus? Probably not - or rather I should says that Yanus was not probably not always salarians. The Union's been trackings him for over a hundred years and during that times he's undergone at least three different shifts in _modus operandi,_ and therefore we're assuming three different peoples have taken the Yanus identity.'

'Not only that but your species is...' Arlen paused, not wanting to give offense, '...short lived, excuse me for saying. There's no way one salarian can live for so long.'

'Exactly. We’ve only managed to gathers as much informations on him as we have because he showed all the hallmarks of our race. Used tech issued to STG, used typical salarian pre-emptive strikes policies in dealings with rivals, it all added to the bigger pictures. Since then the changes have been subtle but consistents. Every thirty years someone new takes up the Yanus names and we gets no closer to catching him. These days he's what the humans would calls a 'boogeyman', an old tales used to scare recruits - though in this cases the stories are actually true.'

'I'd have thought the Special Tasks Group would be hell-bent on tracking him down,' Arlen murmured, 'if only to raise themselves above suspicion.'

Olansi laughed aloud, baring his angular yellow teeth. 'You say that likes they haven't tried! They're always on the trails, always have been. I've known guys who spent their entire careers trying to hunts Yanus down but so far, no luck.'

'Well, we know the tech used in the Jamestown attack was salarian. Do you think Yanus is looking to damage relations between turians and humans?'

'Perhaps,' the Spectre responded idly as he joined Arlen, propping himself against the wall beside him, 'He's into that kinds of things. Staging coups, upsetting the balances of politics. Still, I sure knows I won't be wasting my times with that wild goose chase any times soon.'

Arlen stared across the corridor in deep contemplation. They had learned so much and yet were no closer to catching Krassus. It was maddening.

'I'll mention it to Chellick when we get back to the Citadel,' he said, showing nothing of his doubts, 'I'm sure if the Council sees how dangerous Yanus is then he won't just be a salarian problem. He'll have earned the wrath of the entire galaxy by supporting the Legion.'

Olansi shifted and his grin slowly faded. He said nothing for a moment, instead rising from the wall and crossing his arms. When he finally spoke, his tone was uncharacteristically serious and made Arlen look at him instantly.

'I'm not comings back to the Citadel.'

The statement hung for a time, seemingly freezing the moment until Arlen answered, his voice filled with confusion, 'What? Why not?'

'I was only tasked with assisting you on Omega,' Olansi replied. His red-tinted skin shone as his expression shifted unevenly, 'I have my own missions, one I have to get back to. You know how it is. These world-shattering, galaxy-threatening situations won’t rescues themselves.'

To his surprise, Arlen found himself lost for words. His face paint folded as his features creased subtly, his mind torn between conflicting emotions. Olansi had done little else but annoy him since their first fractious meeting at the docking terminal but so much had happened in the past day, enough to send a pang of regret through him at the thought of the Spectre’s departure.

'Where will you go now?' he asked.

Olansi shrugged. 'Chasing down the leads I was assigned to before this whole business began. Gots a nice assassins I need to tracks down and eliminates. Some drell makings a nuisance of himself in the Traverse. Either way, should be a little less stressful than this places.'

'I think a vacation on Tuchanka would be less stressful than Omega right now.' Mustering his strength, Arlen stood a little straighter. 'Before you go, I have a question.' Olansi looked at him curiously. 'That fighting style you used in Torkessa. I've never seen anything like it.'

'Ah,' the Spectre replied as he paced across the hall, ' _Koet-Lashan_. Ancient hand-to-hands techniques that focus on pinpoint strikes to vitals areas of an opponent's body. It's existed since my people's iron ages, thousands of years before we came to the Citadels. Because of its lethality, it's also illegal in Citadel Spaces, authorised for uses only by high-ranking Special Tasks Groups operatives.'

'Koet-Lashan,' Arlen repeated, trying each syllable on his tongue. It was an odd term, though he supposed the same could be said of any salarian word. 'Does every STG agent know it?'

'I'd sure hopes not!' Olansi laughed, 'Since only one masters of the style is permitted to train others at any one time and, well, I haven't takens on a students in a decade.'

Arlen stared at him, stunned. 'You're joking. _You?_ Some kind of martial arts master?'

Crossing his arms, Olansi smiled broadly. 'You know, I've never met someone with such a wealth of expectations as you, Interceptors. It's like you’ve learned about everythings in the galaxy from a cheesy action vids.' He turned away and his voice became ponderous. 'In the end you'll come to understands that you know absolutely nothing.'

'Even when I'm as experienced as you?'

'Especially when you're as experienced as me.'

Olansi stood for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. The muffled groan of a heavy transport craft thrummed through the hallway and Arlen's door closed with a rasp, the locks clicking shut permanently as the building VI closed his tenancy.

The sound seemed to trigger the sense of finality Arlen felt and he spoke quickly to prolong the moment, 'Is there anything you can teach me? Some moves or techniques?'

Turning back to face him, Olansi stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Not really. Took me over twenty years to picks up what I did. Still, I think some sparrings might be useful for you, if you're up to it? Who knows, you might even learns something.'

Arlen nodded vigorously, grateful for the chance to work some adrenaline into his body.

'I'm hardly in any condition to challenge someone like you but I'll do my best.'

The two men shook and stretched their limbs, Olansi's boots thudding on the ground as he hopped on the spot to warm up his long legs.

'Been a whiles since I've had someones to spar with,' he said, 'In fact, last night was the first fight I gots to have up close in a long times.'

Arlen rolled his shoulders, his brow twitching as they clicked painfully. 'You looked like you were enjoying yourself, though I would've thought being a Spectre would give you plenty of opportunity to test your skills.'

'Nah. Most of the wet works is done at range and even the rough stuff usually involves incapacitatings your target before they can react. Nope, can't remembers the last time I was ables to get a little one-on-one time with the enemy. I guess I should thanks you for that, at least. If you hadn't have been there I wouldn't have been able to takes such a risks on those batarians.'

'My pleasure.'

Arlen slid into his ready stance, his legs space firmly apart, one in front of the other and his fists raised. He bobbed lightly on the spot, ready to spring in any direction.

Olansi gave an approving nod. 'Typical boxing styles favoured by turians legions. Right hand guardings the chin, excellent form.'

The Spectre settled into his own stance with a liquid grace, his curved body complementing the motion perfectly. His fingers were loose and his arms moved up and down rhythmically, his heels lifting from the ground momentarily as he shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet.

'You turians are predictables in your fighting styles but it serves you well. I dare says you were trained to throws in some wrestling holds too.'

Olansi sprang forward as the last word left his lips. His hands snapped out, aimed directly at Arlen's face but met only air as the turian bent his rear leg, moving his head out of range.

Arlen pushed with the same leg as the attack ended and his main hand thrust out with incredible force. It was slow, however, and Olansi easily stepped aside.

'Good reactions,' he muttered, 'I wasn't even holdings back there.'

'Do you always talk this much when fighting?' Arlen asked as he circled around slowly. His movements were precise, with one foot sliding across the ground to be matched by the other a moment later, heels firmly planted on the ground to ensure a stable position. 'Seems like a waste of energy to me.'

'True, though you'd be surprised how many hotheads will be stung into a premature attacks just because of a simple remarks about their mother's fidelity.'

Olansi pivoted on the spot to match Arlen's movements until the wall stood at their flanks. Then, with a speed that belied his exhaustion, Arlen jabbed with his left, testing the distance out of instinct.

Olansi stopped the probing strikes with a palm, but was immediately forced back by a flurry of blows. The hard slap of fist on armour permeated the quiet grunts coming from both men, and Olansi's brow twisted as he fought off the onslaught.

'Again, very good reactions,' he said as Arlen ducked under a blow aimed at his exposed chin, 'Though I'd be carefuls. You don't wants to tire yourse-'

Olansi’s voice was savagely cut off as Arlen’s hand pressed against his head and pushed with incredible force. A sickening smack echoed down the hall as Olansi's head struck the wall, and only the automatic reactions of his body pushed him to move back before Arlen could capitalise.

'Now _that_ I did not see comings,' Olansi huffed, his voice slurred slightly with the shock of impact, 'Active use of environments, spontaneous improvisations, never thoughts I'd see something so creative from a turians.'

Arlen was panting and his eyes were alight with satisfaction. 'I was trained to use everything I see around me. Almost anything, no matter how small can be used as a weapon to debilitate your opponent. If this were a real fight I'd have already manoeuvred you towards the door, perhaps tried to knock your head against the control panel.'

'And used the pieces of it against me too, I'd wagers. Brutals, but effective,' the Spectre replied with a respectful nod, 'Though I doubts they taught you that back at the academy. Who trained you?'

Again the rasp of sliding feet filled the hall as they came together, each man now throwing jabs that were neatly countered by the other. The fight settled into an easy flow and Arlen found himself rejuvenated by the exertion, his small, nagging pains replaced by the reassuring familiarity of single combat.

'My father,' he finally answered, his voice pitching as a straight left was deftly turned, 'He trained both...I mean me, to prepare me for my career.'

'Father, eh? He must've started trainings you young. You're skilled enough. Perhaps could do with a littles more focus but definitely a matches for most I've seen. How old is your father now?'

'He's gone. Died when I was still a child.'

Olansi's hand brushed against the inside of Arlen's left and the Interceptor cringed as an armoured edge, hard and sharp, scraped against his skin.

'Sorry to hears that,’ Olansi replied, ‘So it's just you and your mother?'

Another figure flashed through Arlen's mind, obscuring the image of his parents and his eyes wandered for just a moment.

Olansi read the sudden hesitation with preternatural ease and stabbed a hand towards Arlen's thinly protected torso, his palm upturned and fingers outstretched.

Too late, Arlen tried to move but was horrified to find he could not. He looked down to see Olansi’s spindly fingers pressing into the cloth of his suit, jabbing lightly against his stomach.

Arlen’s muscles tingled and spasmed, and a low thumping began to pound against his ears. It did not take him long to realise it was the sound of his own heartbeat.

'What have you done to me?' he asked, his voice little more than a frightened croak.

It was as if his entire body was being controlled by another, leaving him with only his eyes and a dawning sense of numbness. He urged his arms to move but they would not, and the feeling of helplessness began to grow overwhelming.

Olansi's dark eyes were fixed on his and the Spectre’s voice swam through his senses, 'Back when my peoples still threw spears at each others, when we used to believe in dark magics and gods, Koet-Lashan was developed to paralyse their targets to make them ready for blood sacrifices.'

'Paralysis?'

'Yes. The techniques involves a unique form of neurapraxia, temporary but potents. While we were fightings, I took the opportunity to strikes several points in your upper and lower arms, compressing your arteries which, coupleds with your increased heart rates, caused a severe disruptions to your blood supply. The last points was in your stomach walls, one of the least-protected parts of turian anatomy.'

'It-it feels like someone's given me an overdose of medigel,' Arlen stuttered.

His mandibles quivered involuntarily as feeling began to return to his body. Slowly, the numbness seeped out to leave his skin cold and mind reeling.

'I've never seen anything like it,’ he gasped, ‘Can you use that technique against any species?'

'In the millennia since we encountered the asari, each masters has added to the styles, researching a new species and applying it, so we always know how to takes a target down. You turians have large, wides arteries that run close to the surfaces of your skin. The real challenge is finding areas of skins thin enough to apply pressure, in your cases just below the chest cavity. If you were wearings armour then it'd have to be your neck but wearing that suit, it was simples. Any harder and I could have killed you.'

Arlen shook his head. The lightness of mood he had felt while fighting, the dimming of the pain of his wounds, it was all simply a side effect of his stymied blood flow. That euphoria had spurred him to fight harder, increasing the effects of Olansi's technique.

A new, profound sense of respect entered Arlen’s heart. Olansi was nothing like he had expected but that deception was the Spectre's greatest weapon. In many ways he was the ultimate agent because no one could imagine the power that lay behind his oafish grin and gangly exterior until it was far too late.

Fighting a pained wince, Arlen held out his hand, which Olansi took eagerly.

'I know we didn't really hit it off,' Arlen said honestly, 'but I'm glad I met you, Kotah.'

Smiling once more, Olansi slapped Arlen on the back. 'Likewise. You're a bit of a kids but it's a refreshing changes, to see someone in your lines of work that hasn't let the years go to their heads. Or their hearts.'

They shared a knowing glance, content that their time together, short though it may have been, would not be forgotten. Olansi's grip tightened before he released Arlen's hand, a final farewell that said more than words could to a comrade who had shed blood alongside him.

As he stalked away, Arlen smiled again. The bright green and purple armour was stained a sickly brown from the knees down and he knew Olansi would be muttering strings of curses as he scrubbed the suit clean later.

The image kept Arlen grinning long after the lanky figure was lost from sight.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Chen grinned at Miller childishly, his jaw upturned in a mocking pose as he sported a pair of luxury sunglasses. 'How do I look?'

Miller grunted and folded his arms. 'Like an asari whore.'

'A high-class one though, right?'

'Cheap as batarian ale.'

Still smiling, Chen took the glasses off and returned them to the kiosk's display cabinet, ignoring the harsh look of disapproval from the customer services rep. The man's suit looked as expensive as everything else in the store and again Chen felt a surge of juvenile glee at antagonising him.

Bekenstein was unlike anywhere else in the galaxy. Only Illium came close and even then, nobody 'did' avarice quite like humanity. Even the shop owners were dressed like glamour models, making the Corsairs stand out even more in their dirty, functional spacer outfits.

'Okay,' Chen said, 'how much this time?'

'One year's salary,' Miller answered immediately. Chen wandered to the kiosk's sales terminal and brought the glasses up in the catalogue, whistling softly as the price flashed before his eyes.

'Year and a half!' he exclaimed before giving the sales rep a smile to match his condescending glare, 'You Bekenstein types really know how to fleece folks, don't ya? Makes me wonder if I'm in the wrong job.'

The rep stiffened visibly and his voice was as sharp as acid, 'We sell only the finest designer luxury goods. Unless your new job pays in the six digits, I believe our products will always be outside your price range... _sir._ '

The rep's lip curled into a sneer at the last word and Miller frowned. The bushy eyebrow above his left eye was sliced in two by a scar that ran almost the full height of his massive forehead and his baleful expression was enough to wipe the spite from the rep's face.

'On second thought,' the big man growled, his eyes firmly on the rep, 'I think I'll take a look at the shoes again. Show me the shoes.'

Though the rep sighed quietly, he dared not complain and turned to draw out the sample pair Miller had spent a good deal of time pawing at earlier.

The veteran soldier took them and turned them over in his grip. They were a warm, creamy leather, expertly crafted from the skin of an alien animal whose name he could not even begin to pronounce. All he knew was that the beast dwelled in asari space and was carefully hunted in limited numbers on its native world to avoid endangering the species.

The shoes were exquisite and would match a formal suit he owned perfectly. The price tag was hefty but once the bounty on Krassus was cashed in he would be able to afford an entire wardrobe of such a quality.

Abruptly, Miller shook his head clear of the image. 'I think I've been hanging around that little prick Hammond for too long. Only seem to be thinking of the money these days.'

'I hear you. The guy's such a cheap bastard. I'm dreaming of putting down the deposit on a nice house on Terra Nova with the money from this work while he won’t buy so much as a toothbrush. Insane, that's what he is.'

They wandered away from the kiosk and approached the edge of a raised walkway, one of several that ringed the perimeter of the vast towers that dominated the city. Beyond, Milgrom stretched out in a field of silver spires that jutted into a morning sky of washed bronze. On the horizon, outside the city, a vast lake swallowed the grasslands, its glittering surface marred by reflections of the dark clouds smeared across the dawn vista.

Miller nodded absently. Bekenstein was possibly the worst planet to bring Hammond to, with his constant griping about prices and inflation, but at least he was not with them now.

'So what do you think of him?' he asked, 'and the other one, Taylor?'

Chen blew out a breath of air between his lips and squinted at the sun as it crept above the distant clouds.

'Both decent enough, from what I've seen. Taylor's got the physical edge, no doubt about it. His last PFT scores broke battalion records. His CQB scores are pretty impressive too, reaction speeds that make Winterbourne look like a damn octogenarian. Hammond looks like he's more comfortable with weapons, though. Heard the guy took a batarian's head clean off at nearly three clicks with a Widow a few years back. High winds, targeting VI turned off.'

'No shit,' Miller muttered, 'Luck counts for a lot at those ranges, though.'

'Not when you pull it off four more times in quick succession,' Chen added quickly, 'Still though, as far as personality goes I'd rather be stuck in an elevator with the warrant officer than Hammond. At least she doesn't say much. Hammond just...well, a little of that guy goes a long way if you know what I mean.'

'I hear you. Don't have to like him though, so long as he gets the job done. Speaking of Weiss, you catch the friction back on the Citadel between her and Taylor?'

Chen's golden skin grew taut as a concerned expression crossed his features.

'Not sure what that was about. I thought Taylor was asking some honest enough questions.'

'I don't think the questions were the problem. When was the last time you saw someone press the major for information like that?' Miller ran a hand across his shaven skull. 'Always was a cold one, the warrant officer. Never seen her bark at someone like that without good reason, though.'

'Well it's not like any of us haven't taken a dislike to someone for no reason before,' Chen reasoned. He lowered his elbows onto the walkway railing and narrowed his eyes against the sun's golden glare. 'Makes you wonder, though. Why she'd go and bust a nut over nothing like that? Or uh...what's the female equivalent?'

From behind them a sharp, stern female voice cut through the air like a whip, 'Busting a tit will do, Chen.'

Both men sprang to their feet out of instinct, whirling on the spot to find Weiss eyeing them stonily. Though they were all in civilian attire, she still dressed spartanly, with a figure-hugging black shirt above plain trousers and boots.

Her wiry arms were crossed and her fingers tapped lightly against her skin as she waited for a response.

'Sorry, ma'am,' Chen mumbled nervously, 'I didn't see you there.'

'Well, that's bloody obvious,' Weiss snapped, 'It's time. The major's gotten hold of a Kowloon-class freighter. As soon as everyone's aboard we're taking off.'

'What about weapons, ma'am?' asked Miller.

'Only a few pistols for now. Any more and we'd risk drawing attention so we'll be getting in the heavier kit once we reach Illium. Less red tape that way, too. Besides, we'll need decent gear if we're going to take on a turian cell, not the civvy garbage they peddle in Citadel space.'

'We're right behind you, ma'am, right behind you,' Chen said with mock enthusiasm.

Miller rolled his eyes at his young friend and followed Weiss down the street.

'You're on thin bloody ice, Chen!' the warrant officer yelled out over her shoulder.

Heads turned at her commanding tone and she sneered at the curious glance of a pretty, highly polished young woman who had dared to take an interest in the exchange. Quickly averting her gaze, the woman scurried away under Weiss' piercing glare, and the wealthy and preened elite of Milgrom made way for the Corsairs as they strode past.

 

**~~~ME:I~~~**

 

Flame erupted against a wall of darkness, highlighting a thousand faces. Their eyes were dead and their mouths hung open, black holes in sheets of white skin. There was no sound and yet the silence made them seem all the more terrifying. They reached out with grasping fingers and Arlen woke. 

He gasped as his eyes snapped open. Around him, passengers stirred. Some toyed with datapads while others chatted with their friends but none took notice of him as his pupils sharpened and darted from side to side.

Sound crept into his ears. Muffled conversations, shuffling feet and the constant hum of engines returned to him slowly, feeding into his senses as the dream fled his mind.

Keller shifted beside him. Aside from a few curt remarks as they’d taken off from Omega, she had been a silent companion but her head turned at his sharp awakening. The detective looked at Arlen curiously, not quite with concern, yet with little of her previous iciness.

'Are you ok?' she asked.

Arlen dabbed his brow with the back of a sleeve to see if he was sweating.

'Yeah, just a bad dream, that's all.'

'I see.'

Keller returned to her task and quickly began to type reams of text into the datapad on her lap. She frowned lightly as she worked, and the small movements caused loose strands of hair to fall across her face, which she then swept aside with routine indifference.

'What did you dream about?'

Her tone was casual and again lacked the earlier touch of contempt. Arlen moved his lips and willed his brain to work faster, suddenly eager to take advantage of the thaw in her manner as quickly as possible.

The words he so desperately needed, however, would not come. He searched for even the slightest recollection of the dream but the last lingering images had been swept aside by consciousness. He fumbled for a moment before releasing his frustration in a long, deep breath.

'I don't know. Just scattered pictures in my head. Wasn't good though, whatever it was.'

Shrugging, Keller dipped her head and Arlen swore inwardly. The spirits only knew when she would be inclined to speak to him again.

The transport ship they had taken was smaller and better-kept than their last one. The volus pilot had made numerous threats over the intercom to any who would cause trouble during the journey and judging by the seasoned guards protecting every inch of the vessel, Arlen knew he was not bluffing.

The added safety was welcome. Although he no longer twitched and quirked at every noise, Arlen knew that the shock of Torkessa was still flowing through his system, and that if he were not able to relax then it would take much longer to re-acclimatise to the normal pace of Citadel Space.

He sank back into his chair and ran his hands along the trousers of his suit in a vain effort to smooth out some of the creases.

His old training sergeant would have thrown a fit to see him in such a state. Memories of morning musters and exercises on Palaven coursed through his mind, filling his nose with the scent of warm grass and his mouth with the feeling of hot, lathery spit.

He wondered how he would look back on his time with Olansi.

 _Would the memories be good ones?_ he asked himself, _or will they just be street executions and stinking mass pyres?_

Certainly, there was plenty of competition in that regard. He doubted anything of what he’d seen the past few days would ever leave him.

'We'll be hitting the relay soon,' Keller said, her voice surprising him, 'After that it's a transfer to a certified shuttle and we'll be back in time for lunch.'

'Lunch...' Arlen repeated wistfully, 'I can't remember the last time I ate. I think I found an old dextro-candy bar under the couch in that apartment but I couldn't bring myself to eat it.'

Keller sighed gently. 'You idiot, why didn't you say anything? I brought a few snacks over from the Citadel, including some dextros! Were you just going to starve yourself?'

'Ever since we got to Omega, my stomach was the last thing on my mind.'

Even as the words left his mouth, Arlen regretted them. It was always important to keep your body fuelled and ready for whatever challenges awaited it. There was no excuse for growing weak through hunger, especially as a result of self-neglect. He looked up hopefully.

'Do you have any on you right now?'

Keller's mouth tightened into a thin smile and she reached into a small pack at her feet. 'Not that I've forgiven you or anything, but I can't have you dropping dead on me. It'd be very awkward if I had to explain that to the executor.'

Arlen's heart leapt at the sound of crinkling wrappers and he ripped them off gleefully before pressing two bars of sweet dextro-chocolate into his mouth. His eyes lit up in ecstasy as he worked it through while soft gagging noises erupted from deep within his throat.

'You're supposed to chew,' Keller muttered disapprovingly, her eyes back on her datapad.

With a muffled splutter, the turian forced down what remained of the candy before replying meekly, 'Sorry, I couldn't help it. It's the first thing I've eaten in nearly two days.'

'Then once we've seen Chellick,' she began with a subtle smirk, her eyes drifting over to him, 'the first thing we're doing is getting a decent meal. Agreed?'

Arlen could not keep the grin from his lips, though whether it was the prospect of a good meal or Keller's apparent willingness to let his mistakes slide, he could not tell.

'Agreed.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Garrus looked up as a ripple of shocked conversation spread through the command centre. 

He had just arrived after a fitful sleep and was still working a hurried breakfast down his throat as the commotion rose. Several analysts had risen from their desks and some looked out towards the entrance.

'Wonder what all the fuss is about,' he murmured, and his head snapped to the side as a high voice called out above the throng.

'Garrus!' Lina shouted as she bounded across the room to him, deftly avoiding the trail of colleagues impeding her every step, 'Garrus, we're needed!'

Garrus turned to face her as she approached and instantly noted her agitation. 'Is everything all right?'

'This is getting ridiculous,' she complained, raising a hand to the brow of her helmet. 'Every time I try to get some work done there's always some new emergency to distract me. I turn a corner in my research and I get dragged into a meeting. I'm asked to analyse a piece of data and the staff start giving me-'

She halted at that, and Garrus knew she was thinking better of badmouthing Lorica in front of him. No matter how much the asari bothered her, she was determined not to sink so low as to slander her behind her back.

'Well it could be worse,' Garrus joked. 'You could be back in the Migrant Fleet, missing all this excitement.'

'Very funny,' she answered sharply. With a quick gesture, she beckoned him to follow and he complied keenly, wondering what had gotten her so flustered. 'I suppose it’s for a good reason, though. Arlen and Keller have returned and they've brought back the AI they found on Omega.' Joy had blossomed into her voice at the last and Garrus held back a grin at her naked enthusiasm. 'Can you imagine what this means? A virus that can actually embed the gift of intelligence into any system?'

'Sounds too good to be true,' he replied sarcastically.

Lina gave him an annoyed glance. 'For those of us who actually find this sort of thing interesting, yes it may well be. This AI raises so many questions, like how can it operate without a huge amount of storage space? Typically you need a vast amount of memory to store a standard VI, never mind a full-blown AI. Then there're the blue-box requirements; how has it overcome these limitations? Can it transfer these capabilities to other units? This Petra could be the biggest technological find of the century. She may even be a bridge between synthetic and organic life.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, look at it this way,' Lina began as she skirted past a pair of chattering analysts. 'From the information Arlen was able to get from Bithcon Dynamics, I gathered that Petra was born from a single line of code. This code was introduced to the company's VI, bringing about the changes that eventually resulted in self-awareness. The way I see it, this code could well be likened to DNA, and the network itself, her womb. The VI program provided the rest of the 'genetic' information; knowledge, protocol, the very essence of what organics would call instinct or common knowledge.'

Lina's was interrupted as she almost tripped over a loose cable.

'Bosh'tet! Jorvus, get that thing out of the way, I could've broken my neck! Anyway, the similarities between the way she came into existence and our own are too great to ignore.'

As a scolded turian hurried to remove the cable, Garrus glanced in the direction of the command centre entrance, just long enough to see flashes of Arlen's distinctive white paint through the crowd of onlookers before Lina took him up a flight of narrow stairs. They curved around the outer edge of the room before meeting a thin balcony, onto which Garrus stepped gingerly.

'Poor kid,' he chuckled, nodding in Arlen's direction, 'two days on the job and he's already getting the rock star treatment. The girls won't be able to leave him alone if he keeps this up.'

He just caught the shift in Lina's right eye, indicating her brow was raised mockingly. 'And I suppose you'd know all about that, huh?'

'Of course, and I didn't need to become an Interceptor.' He winked, making Lina laugh delicately. 'Either way, I think the experience will be good for him.'

'We'll see,' Lina replied, her doubt obvious, 'so long as it doesn't go to his head. Turians can be like that, I've found, and Keelah knows they'd rather run themselves into the ground than ask someone for help. They always insist on being so responsible for their own actions and feelings.'

'You're generalising. I've never had a problem with getting help from others, you know that.'

'An exception to the rule, that's all you are.'

Garrus reached over to open the door to Chellick's office, allowing Lina to enter first. 'I should say the same thing. From what I know, quarians aren't too friendly towards AIs. Why the interest in Petra?'

Lina stumbled, her step faltering. She paused for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to answer before turning back to him.

'It's complicated. Let's just say I've always had an interest in synthetic life. It may not be a good thing, or at least it hasn't always endeared me to my people, but I've always tried to use my knowledge for the greater good.'

Her voice ebbed away and Garrus saw her head tilt slightly, almost evasively. She did not even seem aware of the movement herself.

'Come on,' he said, gesturing through the open door. 'We can talk about that another time. Chellick's waiting for us.'

The JSTF commander was seated at a conference table of polished wood, reflecting the bright office lighting along its surface. A thin, rectangular hole was cut through its centre, following its length.

Garrus frowned softly as he approached. He did not remember the table being there before. His curiosity was satisfied, however, with a quick downward glance. Several lines and indentations told of a cavity beneath the floor into which the table could be concealed when not in use.

 _Quite a luxury_ , he thought with a small grin. His own tiny office was not even large enough to accommodate a table half the size.

'Lina. Garrus,' Chellick greeted as his eyes moved up briefly from his terminal. To his right, occupying one side of the table, sat Milo and Lorica. The asari gave a cordial nod to Garrus, though her eyes were on Lina at every moment until the quarian took a seat opposite.

'Lorica, I'm glad you could make it,' Lina said, hoping her politeness would not sound too artificial. 'You've been away from your desk enough for me to think you wouldn't get my message.'

Lorica's eyes narrowed. 'Milo knew where to find me. Maybe if you spent less time buried in-'

Milo coughed next to her, drawing her attention with wide, embarrassed eyes. Slowly, her expression mellowed and she looked on Lina again with slightly less malice than the moment before.

'I'm sorry. I'll make sure I'm around a little more.'

Though she clearly did not believe Lorica’s apology genuine in the slightest, Lina too attempted to remain civil, if only for Chellick's sake.

An entire day had passed by with Lorica being absent for much of it, something that would have been intolerable in many professions. Garrus had not given it much thought before, especially as the asari had been up through the previous night like everyone else, but it was obviously starting to cause friction within the team.

'Just don't let it happen again,' Lina said firmly. 'I need all of my team available at all times for tasking. The outcome of this investigation could rely on it.'

Lorica's eyes widened at the words and she glared as if she’d just been struck. Beneath the table, Garrus saw Milo lay a hand on her thigh, patting it reassuringly. The asari gradually calmed under the soothing contact and her expression slowly softened into one of mere dislike.

Garrus cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable air and took a seat next to Lina. 'What's all this about, Chellick?'

The rest of the group looked relieved to have the subject changed and all eyed Chellick keenly. The commander looked up and held each of their gazes in turn.

'I've asked Arlen to come straight up while Detective Keller heads back to her precinct to sort out some outstanding case handovers. I need you all here because every one of you has been instrumental to this investigation thus far and you all deserve to know the latest on what we've discovered.'

Lina's mouth-piece flashed as she cut in, 'Are you going to tell us where you got this new information now, Chellick? I think Milo at least deserves to know, seeing as he put together the briefing dossier.'

Chellick smiled, his eyes resting on Garrus. 'I'm afraid not. You know how some things have to be in the intelligence game, Lina. No one person can know everything.'

Garrus' stomach tightened as he returned the stare. His own actions in Udina's office two nights ago still dwelled at the back of his mind, as did his meeting with the STG team afterwards.

As the others spoke he continued to watch Chellick. What could he be planning? Was Chellick intending to use him again, perhaps for something more risky? What would the other people at this very table think of him if they knew the truth?

The door snapped open behind them, distracting Garrus from his thoughts and he smiled gratefully at the sight of Arlen as he stopped in the doorway.

The young turian stood a little straighter than before, he noted, though he was clearly suffering from a multitude of small pains that made his eyes flinch with every breath. As Arlen walked towards them, Garrus watched his gait, seeing the way he favoured his stomach and his leg dragged slightly across the ground. Whatever happened in Omega, it hadn't been pretty.

'Here's the man of the hour,' Chellick announced, raising his arm. 'You look like hell, Arlen. How was Omega?'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The last remaining seat faced Chellick at the head of the table.

Arlen felt like he was on parade as he lowered himself into it, his teeth grinding together as injured flesh made contact. They all smiled at him and he did not feel like smiling back.

'It was rough,' he managed to grumble.

There was nothing left to be said. Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since he saw these people and yet it might as well have been forty-eight years for all the familiarity he felt.

Chellick sensed his reticence and held his tongue. They both knew it was useless to expect small talk and even more pointless to want it. Chellick knew exactly what Arlen needed and his voice rang out as he straightened in his seat.

'Well, now that we're all here, we can get this briefing underway. There's not much time so I'll keep this short. The situation as it stands is the Forgotten Legion has gone to ground, or rather they went to ground immediately after the attack. Our other field agents have all reported known Legion safe houses raided, only to be found abandoned, and all known members and associates have disappeared. All except one.'

'One?' Garrus repeated. 'Who'd be stupid enough to be the only loose end?'

'Coleran Vastra,' Chellick replied and keyed a button on the table's control panel.

A holographic display emerged from the hole in the centre of the table, washing their faces with a gentle blue glow and they immediately recognised the grainy image of a turian in the midst of the light.

'Vastra was originally Krassus' camp prefect in the Seventh before the Exodus, the highest enlisted rank in the turian army at the time. He formed the Legion alongside the general and oversaw much of the early administration and recruiting drives. If it wasn't for him, the Forgotten Legion would've died before it was born.'

'So, one of their top members hasn't reported back to them?' Milo asked. 'Do we know why?'

'No. All we have is his location, namely a crappy apartment out in Nos Astra, the capital city of Illium. Milo has compiled a dossier on Vastra which I want you all to distribute to the team leaders. This is our first real lead on Krassus. Arlen; are you ready to move?'

Arlen had been listening with an unbreakable concentration, and to his surprise, the prospect of a tangible lead was enough to erase any pain he felt.

'I am,' Arlen replied. 'How am I getting there?'

'Speed is of the essence here. I've sourced a C-Sec Lightning-class patrol ship for this mission. It's the fastest ship Patrol have that has a civilian equivalent, though they weren't happy about repainting her to fit in with the common crowd. It's small and not cut out for combat or heavy FTL travel, but it'll get you through the relays and out to Illium in one piece - and fast.'

'I'll need a few hours to resupply,' said Arlen. He paused before continuing, weighing an idea in his mind. 'And I'd also like to have Detective Keller along too.'

Chellick nodded. 'I thought as much. You two make a good team.'

Arlen said nothing further. In truth, he did not know why he wanted the detective to come. He didn't want to place her in danger and though she didn’t seem to hold any grudges, the animosity over his decision to leave her out of the Torkessa mission still lingered, no matter how faint.

Still, without Olansi, Arlen felt more out of his depth than ever. She would be needed.

'So, now that's decided,' Chellick began as he clasped his hands together, his elbows propped neatly on the table, 'there's the matter of what you found out there.'

Nodding once, Arlen raised his arm and brought up his omni-tool. It flashed wildly for a moment with an unnatural brightness that made him what Petra had done to it during her rest within its digital walls.

The centre of the meeting table lit up as the connection was made and the AI's graceful figure emerged in a flare of blue light. The holographic emitter rendered her shapely lines with great precision, and Arlen was surprised to see details in her face that he had never noticed before.

Her features were still those of an asari maiden, with lines and tessellated shapes forming her skin but within those patterns there were imperfections. Blinking spots of data twinkled on her cheeks like a fine dusting of freckles while darker shades of indigo bruised her eyes, though whether through corruption in her code or physical stress Arlen could not tell.

Lina rose to her feet.

' _Keelah_ ,' she whispered softly.

Her amazement was mirrored in those around her. Even Garrus held a look of mild shock. Although Petra's appearance was barely different to that of Avina, the Citadel VI that accosted them every day on their way to work, something about this AI truly was different. She looked at them all individually, emotion clear in her eyes.

Petra glanced nervously at Arlen, embarrassment narrowing her eyes into frightened crescents.

He swallowed and looked about him, suddenly aware of how self-conscious she must have felt at being the centre of attention.

'It's okay, Petra,' he said reassuringly, bowing his head with each word. 'These are my friends. They're here to help us. To help you.'

Petra nodded and visibly tried to master herself. Her hands clenched into fists and her expression grew serious before she turned to Chellick.

'New users identified. Two turian males, one human male, one asari female and one...' She turned to Lina and the quarian stared back expectantly. 'One quarian female. Unexpected to see here. Not allowed on Citadel, so history says.'

Lina cleared her throat to hide her shock. 'That's right, Petra, my people's embassy was closed after the geth uprising. I can understand your confusion but I am somewhat of an exception.'

'Exception...' Petra repeated distantly before turning back to Chellick. 'Old turian male, what do you wish to know?'

Chellick frowned. 'I'm not the one with the questions,' he replied gruffly before gesturing to Lina. 'Lina here will be the one to do the asking. We need you to accompany her to her terminal, where she'll try to find a link between yourself and the Jamestown Virus. It may just be a coincidence, but I think you may hold the key to finding out just what this virus really is; and to fighting it should the Legion try and use it again.'

Again, Petra met Arlen's eyes, a look of worry passing over her features.

'Sir,' Arlen began, immediately correcting himself. 'Chellick, Petra's proven herself extremely valuable to me already. Back on Torkessa she showed us a path to Bashik, even through a warzone. I'd like her to join me on the mission to Illium.'

Chellick exhaled deeply, again settling his chin back into his clasped hands in thought. His reluctance was understandable. To let such a valuable asset escape their grasp was a huge risk, especially when there was a chance it could fall into Legion hands should Arlen fail.

His eyes turned to Lina. 'How long will you need her for?'

'I suppose I could just take a sample of her code,' Lina replied uncertainly. She was obviously loath to allow such a priceless scientific find out of her sight but she conceded all the same. 'Give me an hour or two and I should have enough to go on, at least for now.'

'Is this a good idea?' Garrus grumbled, throwing an apologetic glance in Arlen's direction. 'Should we really be letting this thing run loose around the galaxy? AIs are illegal for a reason, you know.'

Arlen narrowed his gaze and shifted in his seat, clearing fighting the urge to stand up in protest.

'She's not a _thing_ ,' he responded coldly.

Petra smiled at the words and addressed Chellick once more, her voice filled with purpose, 'I would like to go with turian male. He takes care of me. I will stay with him alone, no wandering.'

Sighing wearily, Chellick rubbed his eyes before settling his hands on the desk.

Arlen did not envy him the decision. For a moment he wondered what Pallin would say if he saw an AI speaking to them through one of JSTF's own briefing displays. The old man would probably shut them all down on the spot and order an investigation, throwing aside everything else.

'Fine,' Chellick growled at last. 'When Arlen returns from his preparations you can go with him to Illium. In the meantime, Petra, please accompany Lina to her lab so she can run her tests. '

'If you can call it a lab,' Lina chuckled to Petra warmly, eliciting a slight grin from the AI. 'Two terminals and a mass of datapads is a more fitting description, I think.'

'Lorica, Milo,' Chellick continued, 'we'll need everything you can dig up on Coleran Vastra's activities on Illium. We'll also want intel on local law enforcement. That world is the gateway to the Terminus Systems; there's a lot we don't know and C-Sec warrants don't carry much weight out there. We'll need the locals' support.'

 

Feeling a sudden, protective anxiety, Arlen watched as Petra faded from view, her disappearance matching a heady pulse from Lina's omni-tool.

One by one, the group began to rise and filter from the room and Chellick spoke again, his voice cutting through the shuffling of feet, 'Arlen, I need to speak with you in private.'

The Interceptor stopped in his tracks and looked at Chellick questioningly. The others moved around him until the turians were finally alone.

Arlen stood awkwardly, the sudden silence almost oppressive as Chellick looked at him with a curious expression. After a few moments, he cast his gaze down to the table in front of him, where a small portable datapad lay.

'We received something while you were gone,' he said without looking up. 'Something that is, quote; 'for your eyes only'.'

Arlen cocked his head at the enigmatic message but did not sense any mockery. 'The datapad? Who sent it?'

'I couldn't say for sure, though I could guess,' Chellick answered before turning his eyes back up to meet Arlen's. 'All I know is that I was ordered not to read the message contained on this datapad, nor to let it leave my possession unless it's going into yours.'

Quirking a brow plate, Arlen approached the end of the table and Chellick slid the datapad along its length. The slate rasped at it moved across the polished surface and Arlen caught it neatly beneath his fingers before activating it.

Chellick looked on impassively as Arlen's face shifted, the message clearly bringing strong emotions to the surface, and when Arlen spoke again his voice was low and husky, his throat suddenly dry.

'Thank you, Chellick. I need to respond to this right away. I'll stop by with Detective Keller before heading to the docking ring. You know, to pick up everything I need.'

Chellick nodded his understanding, unable to hide his fascination as Arlen strode quickly out of the room.


	19. Chapter 19

The C-Sec Academy atrium was just as familiar to Keller now as it was back when she was just a trainee officer. The smooth, clean walls had not changed in her years away, nor had the strange scent; a subtle and perpetual blend of new furniture and body odour. For better or worse, there was nothing else quite like it.

The detective smiled to herself. It was a reminder of how vast the Citadel was, returning to that place after so long working another precinct. It was as if entering another country, another planet even, yet it was only a short shuttle journey away.

The elevators connecting the academy to the Presidium and its adjoining docks were constantly flitting back and forth, moving silently under sleek tubes all around her. Keller felt oddly at home there, though her she bore barely any resemblance to the young, wide-eyed trainee who had trod the academy’s halls years ago.

Instead of the standard issue blue-patched shirt and trousers, she wore a long, pale cream dress with glossy red panels along the arms. It was the perfect outfit for the mission to Illium, a blend of casual and formal that almost mirrored that which she had worn for Omega.

At first she had found herself itching to climb into the more practical C-Sec uniform, having spent so long out of it while undercover but after a couple of days in civilian attire, a part of her realised how much she enjoyed feeling like a woman and not an officer of the law. The dress held her trim figure well, she noted with satisfaction as she smoothed the wrinkles from her hips, and the feeling was certainly overdue.

The corners of her eyes lifted as she grinned to herself, remembering how just an hour ago her Tayseri Ward captain had almost thrown a fit when she told him JSTF had poached her services.

The blunt, coarse turian had almost sworn a hole through the bulkhead, though Keller knew the old man was paying her nothing if not respect. It was not a decision she could regret, either. Despite her love of the job and the people she worked with, the past two days had been exhilarating for her. She had spent more time off-station in forty-eight hours than in her previous thirty years of life and she was in no hurry to return to the mundane just yet.

'Well ain't you a sight for sore eyes,' a coarse, slurred voice spat behind her.

Keller wrinkled her nose at the hot stench of strong alcohol as the man’s foul breath washed over her.

'Your eyes are always sore, Harkin,' she replied testily, choosing to take a few steps forward rather than turn to face him. 'You really should try more sleep and less drinking yourself to death.'

The smell of unwashed skin crept through Keller's senses, making her grimace in disgust and she ached to recoil from Harkin as she felt him approach again. Despite the swell of officers and staff passing by around her, Keller felt strangely alone, isolated.

Her mouth firming, she held her ground, unwilling to be intimidated by the wretch. She could feel him smile unpleasantly at her back.

'Oh come on, honey,’ he continued. ‘You can't tell me you haven't missed your ol' pal, Harkin? Even after all these years you ain't got a kind word for me?'

Finally, Keller turned around.

Harkin was, as ever, a disgrace to the uniform. A sick grin spread his lips, thin and malicious against his blotchy, mottled skin.

'Look,' she began, her eyes hard, 'I'm only going to say this once, Harkin. Stay the hell away from me. I'm not a recruit anymore. I'm your superior officer and I don't have to put up with this kind of harassment.'

'Whoa!' Harkin replied, throwing up his hands in feigned terror. His gaze was cruel and unyielding. 'Now you're pullin' rank on me? What happened to the sweet little girl I knew back in basic, huh? What happened to the Mandy Keller I used to know?'

'Don't call me that!' Keller hissed before glancing about her. She burned with shame at the thought of causing a scene on his account, yet the memories of sordid slights and sidelong glances were appallingly fresh in her mind. 'Just…just leave me alone. I'm warning you.'

'You're warning _me_?' Harkin smiled back, his eyes merciless. 'Honey, that hurts. After what you got up to back in your academy days I'd have thought you’d learned some respect for your teachers.'

Keller paled with rage as she glared at the man. To her horror, she realised she was shaking and despair touched her as she felt the cold sting of tears at the edges of her eyes. The atrium walls, the crowd of officers, everything seemed to fall away from her and a sinking sensation filled her stomach.

Harkin's grin widened in triumph as he sensed her misery. 'See, now you remember, don't you? What do you say we-'

Harkin stopped as he felt a hard, two-fingered grip on his shoulder and the warm growl of a turian voice sounded at his back.

 'Excuse me, Officer,' Arlen murmured, polite, yet forceful, 'I'm sorry to interrupt but we have to get moving. Detective?'

Keller blinked and her gaze moved up to Arlen’s. It took several moments for her lips to move, and several more for her voice to match them.

'Yeah. Let's go.'

Arlen released his hold on Harkin and immediately the officer smirked. 'Oh, so that's it? The new kid's your latest squeeze now? Well we all know you ain't picky when it comes to species!'

'Please Arlen, let's just go…' Keller muttered privately to Arlen as she sensed him stall at the remark, her voice cold and secretive.

She kept her head low as she walked, and Arlen cast an angry glance back at Harkin, who simply swaggered cockily where he stood.

'Careful kid!' he shouted at their backs. 'Don't get your hopes up! I know for a fact she bats for the opposite team, if you get my drift!'

The sound of his rough, hacking laughter echoed through the atrium, causing many their fellow officers to send puzzled looks in their direction.

Keller said nothing. Instead, her pace increased until they reached the Presidium elevator, though her expression remained vacant even as it carried them away to their destination.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Petra twitched as the extraction subroutine did its work.

To Lina's disappointment, the research terminal on her desk was not capable of rendering a three-dimensional form, and so she had to settle for only seeing the AI's head and shoulders on the small screen for the time being.

Petra was identical to an average asari-themed VI in appearance, though her mannerisms were anything but robotic.  With every small tick and whirr of the terminal's drive, Petra flinched, as if being prodded and poked. It was extraordinary, Lina found, just to watch her as the analysis programs did their work.

She had never stopped to imagine what it would be like, to be under such intense scrutiny, and she felt a pang of remorse as Petra winced, biting her lower lip in discomfort.

'I'm sorry,' Lina said quickly, 'It'll only take a few more minutes, I promise.'

'It's okay,' Petra replied with forced cheer. As soon as the words left her digital lips, she twitched again. 'Feels like scratches, and sharp things. Needles, maybe, to you?'

'Needles?' Lina questioned aloud. 'Of course! This procedure would be the equivalent to the taking an organic blood sample. It makes sense that it would create similar sensations for you.'

'Not long, yes?' Petra asked hopefully as she fought another flinch.

Lina glanced at the terminal. The code she had extracted would be sufficient for the time being, yet the temptation was there. Would Petra be able to detect her lie if she said she needed more?

She looked at Petra again and felt a stab of guilt. The procedure was clearly painful for her, and her face displayed the all-too organic hallmarks of one trying to put on a brave façade. Shaking her head gently, Lina tapped a few commands on the haptic keyboard and the terminal fell silent.

'We're done. Thank you so much, Petra, I can't tell you how much help you've been already. Thanks to you, we can finally begin to get to the bottom of what the Legion used to cause so much death and destruction.'

'Happy to help,' Petra smiled wearily. She looked back at Lina through half-lidded eyes and her browed was knotted with pain.

With deft keystrokes, Lina went to work, filtering the samples through several programs at once on her second terminal. Several million lines of code had been copied and such a vast amount of information would take an organic being years to interpret. Even with the most advanced software in the galaxy, it would be many hours before they could begin to sift through the patterns and recognised characteristics of the code itself, though Lina relished the challenge.

They still had the storage device that housed the original virus, after all, as well as traces of the virus itself. It was now just a matter of filling in the blanks.

'Astounding,' Lina murmured as her pale gaze hovered over the other screen intently, 'I never would have dreamed something like you would be possible, Petra. If just three days ago someone had told me they could fit an AI onto my omni-tool, I'd have laughed them right out of this office. How can you exist with such a small storage requirement?'

'I dunno…' Petra mumbled distractedly as she stared out across the command centre. 'I wondered same thing about you. How can such small organic brains make you do so much? You don't need big servers to help you do things you do. You just do them.'

After a few moments, Lina frowned beneath her helmet. 'True enough, I suppose, but it still doesn't answer my question. Organics may have small brains and efficient though they may be, they are still physical and therefore have certain limitations. You are able to move seamlessly from one device to another. It would be like my consciousness moving at will into another's body.'

'My body is here, quarian female,' Petra answered back, gesturing with her hands on-screen, 'in here. This terminal isn't a body for me, just a place I can go, like another room. I can go elsewhere if networked, but if not then it's like being locked in. I have no more freedom than you, maybe less.'

'So, this really isn't a form of omnipotence. You really can't be in more than two places at once?'

'If I can, I don't know how,' Petra answered thoughtfully. 'If I could, would be useful. Could help you and turian male at same time!'

Looking up from the other screen, Lina connected a small, grey device to her terminal. The object immediately began to beep and click, and she drummed her fingers on the desk impatiently.

'Why do you call Arlen “turian male”?' she asked. 'That isn't his name, and “quarian female” isn't mine.'

'Does it matter?' Petra replied with a look of genuine bemusement.

The question made Lina blink in surprise. 'Why yes, of course it matters. Our names are an integral part of who we are, Petra. It makes us feel good to know someone has remembered our name, just as it can make us feel inadequate or insignificant if someone has forgotten it. In fact, calling someone merely by what they are can be considered rude in most cultures.'

Petra shifted slightly, weighing Lina's words. 'I see. So you would rather be referred to by user name Lina'Gerrel Nar Korshan?'

The quarian chuckled. 'Lina would be just fine. In fact, I'd prefer it if you left the last part out completely from now on, okay?'

Petra nodded once and continued her observation of the command centre, her attention wandering from one desk to the next.

'Arlen…' she mumbled absently, and the trace of a smile tugged at her mouth.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'That son of a bitch,' Keller muttered under her breath.

She leaned over the balcony, her forearms pressed firmly against the railing while below her yawned the lower floors of the markets. Before them, the ward arm reached out to the distant stars, obscured briefly by dark smears of passing shuttles.

Arlen shuffled closer, unsure of what to do. He wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, to comfort her somehow and yet Harkin's words had stirred something deep inside her, something that he did not know how to handle.

He wasn’t even sure if it was even appropriate for him to care. A turian would would rely on those around him to help him shoulder his burdens. Humans were so much more individualistic, more protective of their own anxieties and problems and he was afraid any attempt to force sympathy upon her would make things worse.

'Detective, I...' he began, slowly. His mouth remained open as he struggled to find the words he needed.

Keller stared out blankly across the bustling Citadel and Arlen could barely hear her voice as she responded,  'I'd just joined C-Sec when I met Harkin. I was eighteen, cocky, still a kid in a lot of ways and he was an instructor in the academy. I already told you how the guy was famous in the human community, right? How he inspired a lot of us to join up?' Arlen nodded at her back. 'Well, let's just say I wasn't really prepared for how much of scumbag he could be, even back then. When your idol turns out to be the biggest asshole alive it can be quite a shock.'

'What did he...' Arlen mumbled, unsure if he even wanted to ask the question.

The traffic hid her sigh. 'From the very moment he saw me he was making advances. Even if I was interested I wouldn't have done anything, I mean, a recruit dating an instructor? My career would've been over before it began, along with his.'

'Did he force himself on you?' the turian growled, unable to stop himself from drawing closer.

Keller lowered her head and her golden hair fell in a cascade across her face.

'Not physically, no. But that didn't stop him from making my life a living hell for a whole year.'

Arlen ground his teeth together until his gums ached. He’d known from the second he saw Harkin that he was nothing but trouble. Still, to see Keller so troubled sent a spasm of warm hatred deep through his gut.

'He would make remarks as he passed by,' Keller went on, 'to my face and in front of other recruits. He'd make sure I was on duty nearly every weekend so I wouldn't have the opportunity to unwind or see my family. He even had me disciplined for an 'infraction' against academy rules. All I did was show up a minute late for a class; I was giving a new recruit directions!'

Her voice had grown tight with anger, though her hair still hid her features well. Arlen wondered if it was intentional and with a quiet hiss of breath, he made a decision.

With infinite care, he brought up a hand to rest on Keller's shoulder and began to squeeze gently. To his relief, she did not shy away from the contact.

'Did you report him?’ Arlen asked. ‘I know C-Sec wouldn't stand for that sort of behaviour. He should've been kicked out for such conduct.'

'I sent two confidential mails to my division commander,' she replied.  'Nothing ever came of them. Knowing what I know now, I'd say he was getting outside protection to save someone's reputation. Poster child of humanity in C-Sec and all that.'

The idea galled Arlen but it made sense. Politicians were never beneath sweeping anything under the rug, no matter how reprehensible.

Keller let out another light sigh before continuing, 'In the end, though, I was just a stubborn kid. I let him carry on, thinking I was tough enough to take it. I was, for the most part. His words slid right off me and I faced any bogus duties and punishments with that same 'ward-kid' attitude.'

'Forgive me, but it doesn't seem that way to me now, Detective. I look at the woman in front of me and I see…something else.'

She snorted ironically. 'Yeah, you could say that. It all changed after about six months. I met a girl named Rila N'Asha, an asari. She was a maiden straight from Thessia, a new recruit. She was shy, precocious, not used to dealing with other species. Just like someone else I know.'

'Who-' Arlen began before stopping himself. He exhaled softly and closed his eyes. 'Me, right?'

'Of course. She was just like you, always so polite and afraid of offending anyone without blue skin. It was so sweet and funny to watch and she really needed someone to show her the ropes. So, that's what I did. We became friends quickly after that, ‘partners in crime-fighting’ our classmates called us.'

Keller finally looked up and tossed her head slightly to shift the hair from her eyes.

'Harkin didn't take kindly to all the attention I was paying Rila. I guess the pig was jealous, or maybe he just didn't like her because she was asari. Either way, he began spreading rumours about us, about how 'close' our friendship really was.'

The more he heard, the more Arlen began to hate Harkin. So many words raced through his mind; cowardly, detestable, pathetic, yet none seemed to do Harkin or his deeds justice. Arlen longed to confront him and make him pay. He wanted nothing more than to storm back into the academy and punish the man who had hurt Keller so deeply. With fury clouding his thoughts, he looked up at Keller, and his heart sank as he saw a tear running slowly down her cheek, leaving a silvery trail on her skin.

'It ruined her,' she whispered. 'She couldn't take the stares people began to give her. She couldn't take the whispers and comments behind her back, or the abusive mails from anonymous senders. She began to lose weight, lose sleep, I’d find her crying in her room all the time and she’d never open up about it. After just five months she quit training. We never spoke again after that. She ignored every mail I sent her, like she just wanted to bury the whole thing.'

'Despicable,' Arlen said quietly, shaking his head. 'This is...just too much. I can't believe C-Sec has tolerated Harkin’s presence for all these years.'

Keller sniffed, unaware that he had spoken and her voice began to crack under the weight of long-concealed grief, 'Rila deserved better than that. She was a great person, always thinking of others, always wanting to make the Citadel a better place. She shouldn't have had to live with lies and rumours. She was too sensitive for it all.'

Her arms straightened as she raised herself upright and her hands gripped the balcony railing tightly, blanching the skin around her knuckles.

'Harkin drove her out but he still went after me. The rumours had stuck and even followed me around after training.'

'I don't understand,' Arlen replied, turning to face her fully, 'what would your friendship have to do with your assignments after training? Why would people even care?'

'Some people don't like the idea of...that sort of thing,' Keller shrugged lightly. 'I don't begrudge people having their own opinions and all but when it comes to hurting people I care about over outright lies; that's something else.'

A low clicking sound came from Arlen's throat as he joined her in gazing out at the nebula. 'This is crazy. I never realised people could get so vindictive over simple friendship.'

Keller's brow twitched and she gave him an inquisitive look, turning her head towards him, her blue eyes searched his for any sign of mockery.

The nebula tinged their faces with a veil of lilac light, picking out the gleaming specks of sorrow rimming Keller's eyes. She took a deep breath and looked down, her tone defensive and yet soft, as if she did not want to allow her own emotions to interfere too quickly.

'When I said Harkin had spread rumours about mine and Rila's relationship, what did you think I meant?'

Arlen sensed her confusion, and he answered slowly, wary of her strange expression, 'I'm not sure, I...I guessed that perhaps some at the academy could have taken exception to friends of different species, though if anything, I-'

'Arlen,' she sighed, bringing a hand to her temples, 'when Harkin made that crack about me 'batting for the opposite team', what did you think he was referring to?'

'I uh…' the turian replied, his face twisting with conflicting emotions. Something about the way Keller was looking at him made him uncertain of everything that came from his lips. 'I was wondering what sports had to do with it.'

Keller glared at him in disbelief. Her red-laced eyes narrowed in suspicion and her thin brows arched inquisitively. 'Arlen, are you being serious with me here? You don't know what…'

'Of course I'm being serious, and you're confusing the heck out of me right now,' the helpless turian said, shaking his head.

His perplexed expression deepened as Keller suddenly let out an incredulous laugh. 'I don't believe it. You're telling me that you've never heard of lesbianism or homosexuality? At all?'

Arlen shook his head firmly. 'You've completely lost me, Detective. What does this have to do with Harkin?'

Once more, Keller let out a sharp chuckle. 'Don't turians have same-sex relationships? Haven't two male or female turians ever fallen in love?'

Arlen frowned, as if trying in vain to picture the idea. Keller could only look at him, her mouth open in amused shock. She had obviously never considered the possibility the turians had simply never experienced or even come across same-gender relationships among their own people.

Arlen had wanted to cheer Keller up through some combination of meaningful words but it was clear his muddled expression was doing the job on its own.

Her lips curling into a gentle smile, Keller reached up and touched his arm in appreciation.

'Never mind. I guess you don't have to understand that much, just that Harkin brings back a lot of bad memories for me. I thought I was past all that but…'

She trailed off and her hand slipped down the sleeve of Arlen's suit jacket. He raised his arm, catching her hand before it could fall and with an odd flutter inside his chest, he realised it was the first time he had touched her bare skin. It was soft and smooth beneath his fingers, so unlike his own.

'I'm sorry to hear about all this,' he said, holding her gaze. 'If it makes you feel any better, I want to track that bastard down right now and make an example of him, but somehow I don't think that's what you would want.'

Keller shrugged. 'It might make me smile a little but really, no, it wouldn't do any good now. I've been living with it for too long. I'll be happy enough just finishing this mission and putting all of this behind me.'

'Sounds good to me,' Arlen agreed. He released Keller's hand and the two straightened. Keller swept her hair behind her ears and used the back of her sleeve to wipe the damp traces from her eyes.

'Still up for lunch?' she asked.

Arlen glanced aside guiltily before shaking his head. 'I can't, I'm really sorry. I have to meet up with someone real quick. You’d better get some rest while you can. We're heading out to Illium in less than five hours, though I'll be stopping back at JSTF beforehand to pick up Petra.'

'Wonderful. We get to spend more time with the brattiest AI in the galaxy,' Keller sighed, turning from the balcony's edge. 'Just make sure you get something to eat this time, okay? Message me when you're ready and we'll meet at the docking ring.'

A quick nod sent Keller on her way and Arlen was left to ponder what he had just witnessed. The pressure of her hand on his arm could still be felt and he wondered at its significance.

All around, the Citadel continued to move with its continuous, thriving energy, oblivious to his own feelings. The shuttles sped by with their whining screams and pedestrians shuffled past, deep in their own conversations. No one had seen how much pain Keller had revealed to him.

Sighing, he placed a hand on the balcony rail and began to walk, tracing its metallic edge with his fingertips. The mystery datapad Chellick had given him still weighed heavily in his thoughts, making them sluggish. As if his exhaustion did not give him enough reason to curse its sender, he had been forced to cancel his plans with Keller.

To his surprise, that seemed to bother him more than anything else.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Nihlus stared out of the apartment window onto the gentle, rolling Presidium thoroughfares, as still and silent as the streams that flowed passively beneath them.

His arms, clad in fine grey and red Phantom armour, were crossed across his chest and the subtle grindings of the plates were the only sounds to be heard aside from his own steady breathing. His deep burgundy skin was laced with white paint that curved across every fold of his carapace, out from which his green eyes peered, actively studying every detail of the scene before him.

He had lost count of how many months it had been since he’d last set foot on the Citadel. His recent assignments had ended up leading into one another, forming a web of intrigue spanning seven systems, one of which held the asari homeworld of Thessia. Blood had been shed, plots foiled, and yet it always left him hungry for more. Even now the walls of the small dwelling he had procured seemed confining, even crushing.

Expelling a deep huff of breath, Nihlus focused. He would not be there long.

A click sounded at his back and Nihlus' voice rumbled from his chest, deep and strong.

'Come.'

The door to the apartment slid open and Arlen entered, pausing for a moment in the doorway. The decision to enter, for him, was a hard one.

After a few moments, he took a few steps forward, shaking his head in disappointment at his own weak will.

'Okay, what's this all about?' the young turian asked curtly.

'Is that any way to greet an older brother?' Nihlus immediately snapped back. His mouth instantly tightened with regret at the churlish response, but his eyes remained focused on the window.

Arlen did not answer, content instead to pace slowly about the room. It was sparsely furnished, with bare white walls and only the basic amenities that had been included in its construction. It was the lower end of Presidium real estate, small but functional and elegant compared to the ward equivalents.

'I told you before,' Arlen finally answered, 'don't call me that. Coming here in the first place was all the courtesy you needed. It's certainly more than you deserve.'

Nihlus breathed out heavily once again, sending a puff of mist across the glass of the window.

'I suppose it was too much to expect you to be happy to see me but I didn't come to the Citadel to argue with you. I only came try and salvage something of our family before it's too late. Now that mother is gone, we're the only ones left.'

Nihlus finally turned to look at Arlen directly, hiding well the sudden pang of nostalgia he felt at seeing the face of his younger brother. They still looked so alike, just as everyone used to say, each the image of his father.

'You say that like she only died yesterday,' Arlen grunted in disgust. 'Mom's been gone for three years, Nihlus, and I don't recall you at the funeral. You never had time for us, even before you ran off and you didn’t have time when she died either. As always, you only thought of yourself.'

Nihlus' expression was hard to read, though Arlen had expected as much. He was a Spectre, and was used to concealing his thoughts and emotions. The blank look infuriated Arlen to the point of senselessness and it took a great effort to keep his hands from shaking in rage.

'I wanted to be there,' said Nihlus, carefully. A hint of sadness crossed his gaze, quickly extinguished through habit. 'I can't be held responsible for the demands of my position, however. You should know all about that yourself, now.'

Arlen narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean? What have you heard?'

'I know that you've been selected as a C-Sec Interceptor. It's a great honour for all of us. Father would've been proud of you.'

Arlen's mouth felt dry. He had not spoken to his brother for longer than he could remember, and yet Nihlus seemed to know a great deal, far more than he should. The realisation hit Arlen with staggering force, as if to drive the air from his lungs.

'You…' he sneered contemptuously. 'You were the one you had me fast-tracked for the Interceptors, weren't you?'

'I might have placed a few words in the right ears,' Nihlus replied evenly, 'but you weren't offered the position out of charity. I knew you were smart, skilled and well-trained. You were the only one to truly take notice of father while he was giving his lessons, after all. I thought that if I could become a Spectre, then you could have the potential to do even better. When I heard you were planning to join C-Sec it was the least I could do to try and give you a head start.'

Arlen closed his eyes, his muscles tensed in silent fury. 'You had no right to interfere with my life. If you wanted to help then you should've been there when mother got sick! You should've come when she was lying in bed, calling out your name in the night!' His voice had risen into a shout but Nihlus did not reply, and his calm angered Arlen even more. 'You had your chance to be an older brother and you failed! You don't get to just summon me here after all these years and expect me to be grateful for something I never asked for!'

His voice echoed against the walls and disappeared, leaving a strained silence.

Still Nihlus said nothing. He gave no indication that he had even heard Arlen, regarding him instead with mild indifference. It sickened Arlen to see it, and yet he was not surprised. He could expect no less from the brother who had abandoned his family.

'I'm leaving,' he said under an unsteady breath. 'Don't try to contact me, don't do me any more favours, I don't want to see you ever again. Do you hear me?'

Nihlus' throat pulsed softly as he swallowed. 'If that's really what you want then I won't deny you that. I…regret making you feel this way. I wish you luck in your mission, whatever it may be.'

'You should,' Arlen spat as he turned his back to him. 'It's your damn fault I'm in this mess to begin with.'

The door opened and Arlen stormed out, leaving Nihlus to his thoughts once more.

The Spectre's eyes broke free of their instinctive anchors and darted about the room for a moment, unsure of what to think or how to feel. It did not take long, however, for him to drop the gates on his roiling emotions. It was something he had been doing for far too long now and the routine was more natural to him than eating or sleeping.

He drew down the shutters over the window and methodically prepared the room to hand back to the housing authority. He would not be using it again.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob blew out another hot gust of breath as he brought himself upright, his stomach curling up to his bent knees. 

'One hundred thirty-two,' he counted aloud.

He lowered himself back to the ground, ignoring the torturous burning in his abdomen. His muscles felt like they were on fire with every repetition and still he pushed himself, the exercise clearing his mind as well as strengthening his body.

'One hundred forty-one.'

The ship vibrated beneath him, making his teeth tingle. The Kowloon-class modular freighter was a sturdy beast, with easily detached components and specialised docking sections for attaching heavy cargo containers. They were travelling light at the moment, with only a few lightly-loaded shipping shells to maintain their cover as hauliers on a return trip to Illium. Once on the asari world, they would be able to get their hands on something much faster.

Still, he was enjoying the ride well enough. The Kowloon ran quietly and smoothly, and the transparent deck and bulkhead segments afforded a stunning view of the stars beyond. It was far more relaxing than an Alliance warship, of that there was no doubt.

'One hundred fifty,' he said before finally easing his back to the ground, his chest heaving as his body gasped for air. He remained there for a while, content to let the metal of the deck cool his skin, which glistening with a thick layer of sweat.

A voice spoke nearby, making him blink in surprise, 'Man, and I thought I was a fitness freak,' Chen said as he leaned against the open doorway to the cabin. 'Every morning and night for you, huh?'

'Gotta keep in shape somehow.' Jacob shrugged. The sergeant nimbly leapt to his feet and grabbed a towel from a nearby locker before using it to dab at his skin. 'Is something wrong? We ain't on watch for another ten minutes.'

The rumble of the ship's systems intervened as the silence stretched out, and Chen frowned gently. 'Just thought I'd catch you first. See how you were settling into the squad and all that.'

'Right,' Jacob replied, patting himself down with a clean-pad. When showers were too great a luxury on a ship, the small pieces of powdered cloth were the next best thing. Already Jacob could feel his pores open, sending a delicious chill across his body as he zipped up his shirt. 'Sorry, Chen, but I ain't big on small talk. Never have been.'

'That'll change,' Chen chuckled in reply. 'I know how it is, you get in from the fleet and it's all protocol, protocol, protocol. It takes a while to get used to how we do things and not everyone’s as chatty as Hammond.  I sure as hell know which one I prefer.'

Jacob nodded. 'I admit it's a nice change, just to be able to get on with the job, no questions asked. If this were a Marine operation we'd still be stuck on Arcturus while the brass argued over what to do next. Still, when it comes to people, I just like it kept clean. No strings, you know?'

'Yeah, I hear you,' Chen said with a shrug, 'I ain't one to judge. Can't expect everyone to form attachments. Maybe it'll change, but if not, so long as you do your job then you can be as aloof and moody as you damn well please.'

At that, Jacob grinned subtly and Chen stretched his arms over his head to work the last remnants of stiffness from his joints. The racks on the freighter were still a luxury compared to an Alliance vessel but their rest was still fitful, as it always was on the first night of any space voyage.

A yawn escaped Chen's lips, stretching his mouth wide. 'Come on, let's get up there before Miller and Winterbourne have a-'

'Attention, this is Winterbourne!' a shrill cry came over the ship's broadcast system. The snap of panic in her tone made both men look up instantly. 'All hands to the bridge, on the double!'

The thunder of boots on metal could be heard all through the vessel as the Corsairs responded. Even Hammond and Weiss, who had taken the previous watch, were up and on their feet within seconds, their tiredness forgotten in a heartbeat.

They linked up with Jacob and Chen as they ran through the cargo hold, a wide, open area along the spine. Dozens of large crates and containers lay strapped to the deck, though the central path to the bridge corridor was kept clear.

Miller looked up as the door to the bridge hissed open and he snapped to attention at the sight of Weiss, turning and leaping from the navigator's seat with a fluidity that his large frame did not seem capable of.

'Ma'am,' he said quickly, 'LADAR scans picked up something, fifty clicks and closing fast.'

Weiss narrowed her eyes and approached the haptic displays next to Winterbourne. The younger woman did not respond to the warrant officer's presence. She was far too busy sifting through the various readouts to pay attention to anything else around her.

'That's a batarian ship,' Weiss muttered as she wiped a shock of ice-blonde hair from her eye and tucked it neatly behind her ear. 'Razor-class slaver vessel by the looks of it. Judging by the speed she's doing, I'd say they're out to snatch as many poor sods from the Terminus borders as they can before retreating back over the line.'

Behind her, Hammond shifted. 'You sound pretty sure about that, Ma'am.'

'I should be, I saw enough of the bloody things during the Blitz,' she barked. 'Cowards, that's all they are. Bloody opportunistic bastards, only interested in making a quick profit, not in fighting trained soldiers. The pirate crews on these ships used to be the most slippery ones during the Blitz, always scarpered at the first signs of trouble.'

'So what do we do?' asked Chen.

The answer came from Dukov. The major entered last, his muscles bunching as he folded his arms. 'We can't run from them, not in this ship. Winterbourne, send the slavers the white flag. Tell them we'll shut down our engines and the captain will meet them at the docking entrance. For all intents and purposes, we just think they're here to steal cargo, not people.'

Jacob responded sharply, earning a sudden glare from Weiss. 'Sir, that's a hell of a risk. Do you think it'll be worth it?'

Dukov gave the younger man a cunning grin. 'It'll be worth it when we take their damn ship out from under them.'


	20. Chapter 20

Sarnak stood confidently with his fellow slavers at his back as they waited to board the Kowloon. Five men stood with him, each tall and frightening in armour the colour of dried blood, all brandishing shotguns and assault rifles.

The batarian's mouth twisted into a smile. For a freighter this size, the small group would be more than enough to corral the animals together for submission and branding.

Beside him, Rednar Druka stirred. He was the captain's right hand and the only krogan on the crew, a head taller than them all and more aggressive than the rest combined. He had shared Sarnak’s plunder and chaos for over two decades, and when he spoke the crew listened.

 _And when I speak_ , Sarnak thought to himself, his grin widening, _Druka listens._

'I don't like this, Boss,' Druka grumbled, the sound like distant thunder in his throat. 'I ain't ever seen a ship surrender so fast before. Never. Something don't smell right.'

Sarnak dismissed the krogan’s fears with a wave of his hand. 'They're only humans, Druka. Cowards, every one of them. Scans showed only six crew members and light cargo, first-timers on their way back to Illium. The pilot's story checks out. Besides, you really think a bunch of freight jockeys are going to give us trouble? If they do then you ain't doing your job.'

Druka's booming growl mingled with the ship's ever-present hum to create a bass sound that churned the men's stomachs. Two of the others shuffled back a step and Sarnak tutted to himself at their cowardice.

The airlock door pitched and whined as servos engaged, the sound of a dozen small motors filling their ears as it prepared to open. The rushing of air was next, along with a subtle pressure against their skulls as the two ships' atmospheres were equalised. Finally, the hulking metal barriers ground apart and Sarnak frowned menacingly at what he saw.

It was a lone human man. He was not young, with greying hair shaved close to his skull yet Sarnak saw his body was anything but frail with age. A dark shirt outlined muscle as hard as stone, and the human’s eyes were thin, pale blue slits in his flat features.

Something about him set everyone on edge and Sarnak almost laughed aloud in disbelief at the thought of being intimidated by an unarmed man.

'You the captain?' he snarled. 'Where's the rest of your crew?'

The man spoke and behind Sarnak, Druka narrowed his reptilian eyes suspiciously at the human's apparent calm in the face of half a dozen heavily armed and armoured pirates.

'My name is Captain Dukov. The others are in the cargo hold, prepping everything for transfer to your ship,' Dukov replied in a clear, commanding voice. 'We know the routine with you pirate types and we don't want any trouble here, so just take it easy and we can get this over with before any law enforcement patrols show up.'

Sarnak snorted. 'We know you didn't send any distress signals, human. Nobody is coming to help you.'

'Be that as it may,' Dukov answered with a shrug, 'you're just outside the Terminus border. The locals do send out patrols occasionally and we'd rather be on our way to Illium as quickly as possible than be pawns in a hostage situation. Not to mention the authorities might…frown upon some of the goods we’re carrying.'

The two men stared at each other for a time and Sarnak's eyes flitted behind Dukov anxiously, though he could not have said what he was watching out for. Everything this captain said made sense and yet Druka was right. Something was odd about this ship.

Beyond Dukov, Sarnak could make out the familiar lines of the Kowloon, its simple design firmly ingrained in his mind after dozens of raids. They were simple vessels with a small number of hiding places for the animals to take shelter. Even once the idiot humans were aware they were dealing with slavers, there would be no hiding from them.

Sarnak’s confidence quickly grew at the thought, and he silently admitted the mention of illicit goods had piqued his curiosity. He hadn’t come across a decent haul of red sand in a good many years.

With a quick glance to the men at his side, Sarnak firmed his resolve and his voice was a bitter snap, 'All right, _Captain_. Take us to your crew, but no sudden moves or I’ll have you liquidated on the spot!'

The tramping of hard boots could be heard throughout the ship as they marched, sending shivers through the superstructure. They all took heart from the intimidating sound and Sarnak's trepidation began to melt away.

He had no reason to be concerned. These humans would soon be collared and broken, and he and his men would eat well for months.

‘You look a little… _seasoned_ for a freighter captain,’ Sarnak remarked as his eyes passed over the hard ridges of Dukov’s shoulders. This one would fetch a good price for those in need of manual labour, or even gladiatorial combatants. ‘Most spacers I see are so soft you could cut them open with a spoon.’

Dukov’s step faltered slightly. ‘Ex-Alliance military,’ he answered, his voice even. ‘Twenty years.’

‘Twenty years?’ Sarnak growled and his voice became unpleasant. ‘That’d mean you were around for the Skyllian Blitz. Lost a lot of friends on Elysium and Torfan, you know. Those debts still haven’t been repaid.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Dukov replied steadily. ‘I was groundside during the whole conflict, training recruits of out Pendleton. Not much action for an old man when there’re plenty of young ones around for it.’

Sarnak accepted his words with a quiet nod, his attention drawn back to the ship and the plunder it held. An ex-Alliance marine would be a whimsical addition to the slave quarters of any batarian, and the price would be suitably high.

The first sight of the cargo hold lifted Sarnak’s spirits further. The lighting was kept to a minimum to conserve power but the clear ceiling panels bathed the entire bay in a cold wash of starlight, steeping the edges of the room in deep shadow. Though there were few containers, most were marked with the logos of Bekenstein shipping companies, promising luxury goods within that would fetch handsome fees.

Sarnak drew his heavy Brawler pistol and gestured towards the crates.

'What's in these?' he asked, keenly aware that his men were also throwing covetous glances in their direction.

Dukov spoke over his shoulder as he walked, 'Mostly electronics, omni-tools and the like. Some jewellery, fine art and textiles too, lot of demand for those on asari worlds.'

Sarnak swallowed drily at the thought of such riches.

Druka's lips, however, were lifted in a dubious scowl and the krogan let his gaze wander across the gloom, wary of any sudden movements.

'I don't see any crew,' he barked. 'I thought you said they were getting this stuff prepared?'

Sarnak turned his head and glared at Druka angrily. 'Quiet, you idiot. I do the talking around here.'

Again, Druka rumbled his frustration and Dukov raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Is there a problem?'

'Silence!' Sarnak snapped as his patience frayed. 'I'm in charge here. You just…just get your crew out here! We'll decide what to do with you then.'

Nodding, Dukov faced forward once again. The gentle glow of a hatch panel grew stronger from behind a large crate and Sarnak spoke once more, his voice heavy with agitation as he realised they were approaching the back of the hold.

'All right, that's far enough. Call out the rest of your crew or I kill you right here and now!'

The rest of his men stood ready, their weapons pointed squarely at Dukov.

The human stopped beside an enormous container before letting out a breath and turning to face them, his weathered face rendered ghostly in the eerie light.

Slowly, he brought up a hand to scratch the back of his head. 'Okay, if you insist.'

Suddenly, his hand swung down and rapped the side of the container hard. All four of Sarnak's eyes widened as he caught the signal and he opened his mouth to cry out a warning. It was too late.

All around them, container doors crashed open and the snaps of rifle fire followed. His men were so focused on Dukov that they could not react in time, and within only a few seconds they were falling like leaves, cut down where they stood.

Druka yelled out as a heavy slug cracked through his armour, his own rifle chattering as his finger clenched the trigger in reflex, cutting a clumsy arc of fire through the air before he finally fell.

Sarnak tried to raise his own weapon but the action was painfully slow as his body and mind went numb with shock. He struggled to focus on the humans that poured from the crates, each one efficiently picking their target the moment the doors opened before dispatching them with ruthless discipline.

Dukov strode towards the slaver leader, his features emotionless. His hand reached out to a small indentation on the side of the container he had struck and smoothly pulled out a concealed Raikou pistol.

Sarnak knew then he had been outplayed. He could not even be bothered to try and fire one last shot. He could only stand there in mute defeat as his men lay dead around him in the icy glow, surrounded by dark gore and glittering fragments of armour.

Dukov did not even pause. He raised his weapon to the batarian's head and pulled the trigger, blinking as flecks of blood spattered across his face and Sarnak dropped lifelessly to the ground.

After the scant few moments of chaos, the ship was quiet once again and the team shuffled close, surrounding Dukov in a loose circle.

'Assemble at the airlock,' he said, eyeing each one of them in turn. 'We only have a few minutes before they realise something's wrong and I want to keep the element of surprise. Kristen...' He looked at Weiss and she returned the stare intently. 'You'll take Chen and Taylor. Winterbourne, Miller, Hammond, you're with me. We hit through the umbilical and secure the ship floor by floor. My team will head for the bridge, Kristen, you've got the engine deck. Radio silence until I give the all-clear. Any questions?'

No one spoke and Dukov nodded firmly. 'Good. We have the upper hand. Now let's take us a ship.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The security scanner beeped wildly, an irritating wail that drew the attention of everyone in earshot. In a city as large as Illium's Nos Astra, there were many in the spaceport even at that early hour and Keller glared balefully at the customs clerk who barred her path.

'I'm sorry ma'am,' the young asari said, her voice a drone that implied many hours spent repeating the same lines to dozens of different individuals, 'it's something else in the bag, it has to be.'

Keller gnashed her teeth in frustration and hung her head, turning her eyes to the ground as her voice became an angry growl.

'You made me empty the damn bag. You made me empty my pockets. You even made me take my freaking combat armour out of its case, dismantle the freaking kinetic barrier emitter and pass it through the scanners fourteen _freaking_ times!'

She lost her patience at last, leaning in close to the clerk and lowering her voice threateningly, 'I swear to your Goddess, if you don't let me through in the next five minutes I'll slap a pair of cuffs on you and chain you to the nearest shuttle!'

The clerk looked back at her, her expression blank. Then, she too shuffled close to Keller, and in a low, firm voice said, 'We have clearance to perform cavity searches here, ma'am. Just so you know.'

Keller paled visibly at the thought and with an annoyed huff, she turned back to storm through the scanners once more.

Some distance ahead, Arlen regarded the scene with quiet affection, grateful his own passage through the checkpoint had been free of incident. He'd managed to grab a decent meal and a few hours’ sleep on the way over, though it was only what he owed his body after neglecting it for so long.

The dawn air still held the icy snap of night, waking his senses and refreshing him in an instant. He was glad he was not alone on the strange world. It was the first time he had been to an asari planet, and he immediately found himself awed as he stared out of a large window onto fields of sleek, curved skyscrapers and elegant domes.

Everything seemed so impossibly huge there, as if every new construction was purposefully built in an attempt to dwarf its neighbour, so different to the strictly-ordered and stylistically modest cities of Palaven. The sky was as deep a blue as the skin of the city's mistresses, lightening in the distant east as the sun promised a warm, balmy day.

Arlen watched as a few spots of cloud drifted idly by, lined with pink as the sun began to rise. He did not know how long the view had held him, but it took the gentle touch of Keller's hand on his shoulder to bring him to his senses.

'Thank God that's over with,' she sighed, her voice edged with irritation. 'I swear, if all asari worlds have travel security this invasive than I-'

She paused, her lips moving slightly without sound. The sun had begun to peek over the horizon, flaring brilliantly over the jagged, dark lines of the city. She looked up at Arlen, her eyes bright with interest.

'Are you ok?'

He blinked as if coming out of a trance before returning her gaze. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Keller smiled and joined him in looking out on the dawn. 'Yeah. It really is.'

Countless citizens flooded by as the seconds passed and the noise in the terminal grew steadily. It all seemed muted to Arlen, however. Something about the sun was so settling as it gradually lifted into the sky, bringing about the same sense of peace as the pearl-white curves and clear fountains of the Presidium back on the Citadel.

It was something he could not describe, nor understand, more like a deep sense of nostalgia that couldn’t be tied to any one thing.

Shrugging, he glanced back at Keller. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't be standing around, gawking at nothing.'

Keller smiled warmly at him, and in the burnished glow of the rising sun her hair was like gold.

Arlen felt something odd, pleasure with a distinct edge of nervousness that seemed to still his heart for just a beat. When she replied, her soft voice matched the visage perfectly, and Arlen had to remind himself to begin breathing again.

'If there was anything I learned when undercover, it's that you have to stop and enjoy these things while you can, Arlen. You never know where the job will take you next and even when you get there, you're never certain if you'll return. Treasure moments like these as if they're your last. That said,’ she added with a playful smirk, ‘we do have a terrorist to catch, so you can stop gawking now.'

After a few moments of thought, Arlen nodded. 'You're right. Thanks.'

Patting his shoulder, Keller let her hand slip down to gently press against his arm, urging him on.

'The heavy gear, armour and the like is still being held,' she said, frustration working back into her voice. 'They'll clear it within the next twenty-four hours.'

'That's not fast enough,' Arlen grumbled. 'We need to be fully armed when we try and take Vastra in. He could have half a platoon of Legionaries protecting him for all we know.'

Keller's feet skipped as she moved aside for an elcor, its enormous weight shaking the ground as they passed by. 'Tell me something I don't know. Still, JSTF came through for us on this one. They set up a meeting with local law enforcement, who've agreed to help us take Vastra in. It's a good thing we're on a council race-owned world; the asari respect Citadel law more than most species and the locals were pretty quick to pledge their support.'

'Who're we meeting?'

Keller nodded in the direction of the terminal entrance, where the city beckoned through a large set of open doors. Framed by the rectangle of pale light, a lone figure stood, arms crossed as it appraised them coolly.

As Arlen drew near, the asari's features became clearer. She wore a police uniform of patched grey, striped with blue and bound with bands of pitch black. Her skin was dark for an asari, with lighter lips and the dull, grey scales along the curves of her head that denoted her passage into the matron stage of life. She stared at the newcomers with a guarded expression as they approached.

'You must be the C-Sec agents we were told about,' the asari said as she offered her hand in greeting.

Arlen took it first and shook, noting the strength in her grip. 'Yes, thank you for meeting us on such short notice. My name is Arlen Kryik, C-Sec Interceptor. This is Detective Amanda Keller, of C-Sec's Investigation Division.'

The asari nodded at Keller with professional courtesy and the pair relaxed. They were both afraid Illium's own police force would resent others interfering with their jurisdiction but their host gave no sign of it.

'Captain Anaya,' the asari said, bowing her head formally, 'I run the spaceport terminal precinct, which happens to be one of the busiest on Nos Astra. We received a short set of instructions from JSTF but nothing in the way of why exactly we're being asked to follow them. I was hoping you'd be willing to follow me to the station and fill me in?'

'Of course, Captain,' Arlen replied, and with a gesture from Anaya they strode through the open doors and out into the cool morning air.

Already Arlen could feel the first touches of warmth as the sun continued to creep above the skyline. Illium was a hot planet, he had read on the way over, and he suspected that was why all the pedestrian walkways were built so high off the ground, hugging the tall buildings closely. The higher altitude took the edge off the heat, though the thinner air was already lightening Arlen's head. It would take many days to acclimatise to the new atmosphere but that was a luxury he could not afford.

Thankfully, Anaya did not have to lead them far. The precinct was part of the spaceport, with dozens of freighters docked overhead while autoloaders and cranes carried the cargo. It was a bustling place, where the trade of Nos Astra came and went without rest.

The police station itself was small and well kept, with barely a dozen asari officers hunched over their desks, buried in their work. The gentle beeps and chimes of haptic interfaces were broken only occasionally by a muffled cough or muttered remark from one colleague to another.

Next to C-Sec, it was almost serene, Arlen mused.

'Through here, please,' Anaya said as she briskly led them through a small door in the far wall.

It was a secure area, and the captain had to key in a password to open the way. With a slight groan, the door slid aside to reveal a narrow corridor of sterile grey.

Nothing moved inside, and Anaya spoke in a hushed tone, adding to the air of mystery, 'As you can probably tell, we hardly ever use this area. Nos Astra used to be a hub of organised crime, back when the colony was new and a lot of the city was still under construction. From these secure rooms my predecessors worked with asari Commando units to put down the worst of the rogue elements.'

'That's a switch,' Keller commented. 'We hardly ever get asari criminals on the Citadel. We just assume you're all too nice and mature to get tangled up with the wrong crowds.'

Anaya smiled humourlessly. 'Our race has just as much criminal potential as any other. The difference is with our longevity, a crime lord inevitably has the knowledge and experience of centuries on her side. When an asari takes power in the underworld, more often than not they're there to stay and they know better than to broadcast their presence. All-asari criminal organisations aren't too common outside our space but those that do take root can prove almost impossible to eradicate. That's why Commandos were used in the initial purges, all conducted from the rooms you see around you.'

'Did it work?' Arlen asked.

With a derisive snort, Anaya looked at him as she unlocked a sturdy-looking door.

'If it had then my job would sure be a hell of a lot easier.'

The door opened into a darkened room much like Chellick's office in JSTF. A large holographic screen filled the back wall, already churning with various security feeds and reports. A round meeting table dominated the centre, around which clustered several officers and detectives who stood up immediately as Anaya entered.

'All right, people,' she said sternly, 'this is Interceptor Kryik and Detective Keller of Citadel Security.' She turned to Arlen. 'This is the team we put together when we got word you were coming. My district commander wasn't too happy about committing resources to this but after being told what happened to the _Jamestown_ , well, you couldn't hold me back.'

Arlen let out a breath of satisfaction. 'Thank you, Captain. It's good to see there are people in the galaxy who want to see justice done, even if it means intrusion on their home turf.'

She nodded. 'We're all on the same team here. I believe your commander wanted to brief you himself when we were all together.'

Anaya walked to the table and tapped commands into a small terminal set up at the edge and with an audible click, a connection was established.

Chellick's pale brown skin was rendered a bright red by the projector, though his angular white markings were distinctive enough. His voice thrummed from the speakers as clearly as if he were in the room with them.

'Thank you for contacting me, Captain. Arlen, I see you and Detective Keller made good time getting to Illium. I take it you're ready to go?'

Keller answered for them, her brows knotted in frustration, 'Yes, Sir, as soon as customs lets our gear through.'

Beside her, Arlen smirked and Anaya shook her head. 'Damn bureaucrats. Don't worry. I'll have your equipment released as soon as we're done here.'

'Excellent,' Chellick remarked. 'If everyone would care to take a seat, our people here have taken the liberty of drawing up a game plan.'

'Commander,' Anaya interrupted, frowning at him while Arlen and Keller sat down, 'that won't be necessary. My team and I are more than capable of handling this ourselves, in fact we've been working through the night, planning every detail to ensure your agents can get straight to work as soon as they arrive.'

'And the effort is appreciated,' Chellick replied and Arlen frowned at his superior's dismissive tone, 'but this is too important, Captain. Not to mention that should the operation go south, the fallout would be much more than you can handle. No, JSTF will oversee the op, with myself in overall command. I'm sure you understand.'

Anaya stared wide-eyed at Chellick as if he'd slapped her. Her face twitched subtly, changing between expressions of anger and outright disbelief and Arlen wanted to speak, if only to clear the air but thought better of it.

It was a fiendish thing, to wrest control of the operation from Anaya at the last moment but he could understand Chellick's reasoning. Vastra was their target and they had more riding on his capture than anyone. They could not let him escape, and for that reason alone they had to maintain as tight a grip on events as they possibly could.

Anaya composed herself long enough to make a tight-lipped response. 'Very well, Commander, have it your way. I don't like someone else having the final say over my people but in the interest of professional unity, I can make an exception this once.'

'And thankful I am to hear it,' said Chellick before he turned his gaze to Arlen and Keller. 'While you were on your way to Illium we went over the schematics of Vastra's building, as well as the surrounding area. Captain, I understand you've had units in place for several hours now. Do you have anything new to report?'

Anaya shook her head. 'Surveillance teams report one turian male living in a crappy dump of an apartment, hidden deep in the city's industrial sector. Description matches the pictures you sent, no visitors, no calls in or out. He's just waiting there, alone.'

They all seemed to feel the same pang of concern at the same time and every eye in the room turned to another as they wondered what would be keeping Vastra there.

'It doesn't make sense,' Arlen murmured. 'He must know he's making a target of himself by waiting out in the open like this. What could he be waiting for?'

'Do you think it's a trap?' Keller wondered aloud.

'Unlikely,' Chellick answered. 'The Legion are laying low after a major success. They want to draw as little attention to themselves as possible until their next strike. To ambush their pursuers on their home ground would be too great a risk.'

'Attacking the Citadel was a risk too,' Keller argued, 'but they still pulled it off. Something here doesn't add up and you know it.'

'Regardless,' Chellick said, his voice strong, 'the plan hasn't changed. We need that man and you people will be the ones to bring him in. Your team is assembled, I take it, Captain?' Anaya nodded silently. 'Good. We're patching through the details now. Stand by. Lorica? They're ready.'

Captain Anaya visibly fought to hide her surprise as an asari maiden materialised next to Chellick, the delicate youthful curves of her face clear despite the static of the comm-buoys linking their systems.

Before she spoke, Lorica kept her head down as if typing on a keyboard and in a matter of moments several displays popped up beside her. Images of blueprints, along with pulsing red circles dominated the additional screens, each marked with designated numbers and letters.

'The plan is simple,' Lorica said clearly. 'Arlen moves in, alone and on foot. The aim, of course, is to apprehend Coleran Vastra but an even more pressing concern is the whereabouts of the Forgotten Legion. If possible, Arlen is to interrogate Vastra on-site and act on any information uncovered while our own men bring the suspect back to C-Sec on the Lightning.'

She paused and another flurry of movement saw additional displays blossom into existence.

'There will be two teams in support. Sniper team will consist of four officers while the ground team will be composed of six, with Detective Keller in command.'

'Wait,' Anaya interrupted. The captain rose to her feet, her hands still in the table. 'That wasn't the deal, Chellick. Overall command is one thing but I can't allow anyone else to have direct control over my own people on the ground, not in my city.'

Her voice was fierce and protective, and Arlen knew she spoke out of loyalty to her subordinates. Any leader would be loath to place the safety of their men or women in the hands of a stranger.

Keller shifted, uncomfortable with the position she had been placed in.

Unmoved, Chellick replied without compassion, 'JSTF operates with the direct authority of the Citadel Council, and by extension your direct superiors.' His voice hardened and Arlen almost grimaced at the words. 'Make no mistake, Captain, the 'request' was a matter of professional courtesy, nothing more. You'll answer to Keller during the op and follow her every instruction. If anything should go wrong, you may consider your rank in jeopardy.'

Anaya appeared gaunt and drawn in the false light of the briefing room. She swallowed, fighting against a palpable rage that was mirrored in the asari around her.

Arlen raced to think of some kind of sign that would separate him from the grim-faced turian on the screen but he knew such a thing would be foolish. JSTF had bullied their way onto the scene on Illium and he was part of it, willing or not.

'As you say,' Anaya finally replied, her voice like ice. Her mouth worked soundless as she tried to force a civil tongue but her body was failing her.

In the face of her difficulty, Arlen stood and directly addressed Chellick. 'Is this a good idea, Sir? Captain Anaya and her team know the city, they know the locals and they can read the signs of trouble better than anyone. Not to say the detective isn't up to it,' he added quickly with an apologetic glance in Keller's direction, 'but I'd feel better going in knowing Nos Astra's finest are operating at their peak.'

Chellick's expression darkened and his response was a snap that cracked though the air, 'I won't be second-guessed, Interceptor. The order stands; Keller will be in charge and I expect you to remember whose side you're on.'

Arlen swallowed hard, his every instinct rebelling against his impulse. He had been bred to accept any order without question, to treat the word of a superior as law. Still, it felt _wrong_ , and another furtive, sidelong glance at Anaya only stiffened his resolve.

'Excuse me, _Sir_ ,' he said pointedly, 'but I was under the impression we were all on the same side.'

The room plunged into stunned silence. Even Arlen himself released a long-held breath, astonished at his own behaviour. Nearby, Keller smiled at him but Chellick would not be swayed.

'You have your orders,' he said brusquely. 'I want everyone in position by midday. That gives you six hours to set everything up and I expect a link established to this command centre thirty minutes before that. Move it, people.'

Before anyone could respond the connection was cut and the image faded abruptly from the screen.

A sourness had come into the small room. Everyone felt it and they looked at one another, unwilling to be the first to speak. After a few moments, Anaya prised herself from the table and paced slowly across the room.

'I appreciate the effort,' she said to Arlen. The gratitude was thin in her voice but the overriding tone of bitterness was well-deserved.

'I'm sorry,' he said with a sad shake of his head. 'I had no idea.'

Anaya snorted softly to herself, her mouth upturned in a resentful smile. 'At least it's just my career on the line. You better come through on this one, Interceptor. If you don't I could well be back on the streets chasing down leads and I don't look forward to facing all that paperwork again.'

Tilting his head, Arlen tried to lighten his tone, eager to lift the mood. 'There are worse outcomes.'

Anaya chuckled, though there was not a shred of mirth in the sound. 'Not in this city.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob watched as the Corsairs formed around him.

In front, Weiss and Chen stood ready with their rifles raised, occupying the right-hand side of the docking umbilical. To their left, Dukov led the second team, each and every one ready to spring into action.

They all wielded Tsunami assault rifles, Ariake-built weapons that had been surprisingly easy to acquire on Bekenstein. They were reliable but more importantly, they could not be traced easily and every piece of their gear was civilian grade, with the exception of the explosives and grenades. Those were off the grid, sourced in Bekenstein's black market, courtesy of Dukov's network of contacts.

Nothing, from the weapons they carried to the boots they wore, could be tracked back to the Alliance. To the outside world they were just spacers going about their daily lives and the slavers on the opposite side of the airlock door would know no different.

 _That complacency will mean their deaths,_ Jacob grimly surmised.

No one spoke as the airlock hissed and sharp bursts of vapour jetted from the vents at the top. Their eyes remained on the door, fixed on the centre.

The layout of the slaver vessel was simple and Weiss had given a rough description as they jogged to their destination. It was not enough, of course, but it was better than nothing and it was enough to form the simplest of plans. That simplicity was the key, Jacob knew. It was one of the fundamental rules of a successful special operation. The plan had to be uncomplicated enough that his first instincts would snap to it even when anarchy had engulfed them.

As it stood, each team had a clear objective and they devoted all of their wits to accomplishing it, each one of them visibly coiled and ready to act.

After what seemed an age, the airlock doors cycled and began to open.

Dukov was the first to move, his rifle fitted snugly to his shoulder. His advanced years melted away as he crept forward, showing an ease of movement that came with a life of combat training. Behind him, Miller, Winterbourne and Hammond followed closely.

The airlock gave way to a vision of decay and despair. The umbilical hatches for batarian ships were located towards the back of the superstructure, as with the Kowloon, though the interior was a far cry from the clean lines and placid colouration of the commercial freighter.

The slaver vessel seemed to have been designed, or at least modified to break the wills of those they captured the instant they arrived. The bulkheads were an eye-searing red, pitted and stained with brown, rusty scars that etched the rough surface every few feet. Condensation lay glistening in thick sheets, falling from the ceiling in fat drops onto a deck made from jagged, metallic mesh.

Through the gaps, bronzed pipes and darker insulated cables ran with seemingly little order to their layout. A light shone from somewhere but the source could not been seen, instead burning through the humid air in a sickly yellow haze.

Nothing moved within and Jacob frowned in confusion. Usually the shipboard VI would pipe the opening and closing of the main entrance of the ship. Its absence, along with that of any crew and coupled with the appalling state of the ship itself, led him to believe the slavers were simple thugs with little care for procedure.

He hoped the same could be said of their combat ability.

As Hammond passed her, Weiss too began to move ahead carefully. Dukov's team turned left and she peeled right, hugging the wall as tightly as possible.

The two groups separated, each moving to their assigned area of the ship. The Razor would not have a CIC as such; rather the small ship's nerve centre would be the bridge. This would be Dukov's first target, Jacob ran through in his mind, to silence their comms and ensure no one compartment on the vessel would know what was happening to the next. His own team would seize the ship's drive core and shut it down manually, preventing the slavers from making off with their prize.

Weiss' knowledge of the batarian vessel showed in her every movement. Her eyes were constantly shifting, picking apart every detail around her and without warning she darted to the left, down a well-hidden turn in the corridor.

Her team mimicked her steps, their weapons trained in individual arcs of fire that swept every darkened corner and musty space. Their feet clanged against the deck, which vibrated precariously beneath them. The sound was quickly masked, drowned out by the incessant growl of the ship’s inner workings.

The passage they had taken was lined with the same brown, sweating pipes that ran beneath the deck. They looked incredibly hot to the touch and the team kept their distance, pressing in as far as they could. A corner loomed ahead as the passage turned sharply to the right, a black line against the murky orange.

They did not slow. Jacob kept his rifle on the corner as they approached and with only a brief tensing of his brows, registered a shadow moving in on their position. It was impossible to hear the footsteps to gauge distance. All he could tell was that the contact was humanoid in appearance.

The others in the team did not react; the fire sector was Weiss’ alone and only she needed to respond. The warrant officer's feet crossed one another as her torso turned slightly, taking the corner at a wide angle to lessen the chance of ambush.

Jacob followed and the rest of the passage emerged from the corner, a long, thin stretch of the same rusted walls and coppery piping. The choking steam was thick, creating a blanket of stifling heat that soaked his clothing and slowed his thoughts.

Ahead, appearing as a blurred, shifting grey shape, an enemy crew member stumbled. He was batarian, and had his back to them as he went about some maintenance task. He was completely unaware of their presence and Weiss twitched at the advantage.

Gently easing her rifle down, she let it hang by her side by the thick sling wrapped over her shoulder and Jacob’s eyes caught a flicker of silver as she drew a combat knife from her belt.

She moved quickly, carefully managing the weight on her feet to reduce the noise of her steps, reaching the batarian in moments. All sound was swallowed by the din of the ship as she plunged the knife into the crewman’s neck, cutting deep into the flesh as she wrapped her other hand around his mouth. She lowered the batarian to the ground, her features emotionless as she held him until the final twitches of life left his body.

As the team moved on past the dead crewman, Weiss led the way again and shifted, this time to take in a sudden left turn.

Jacob blinked sweat from his eyes. The tension sapped his energy with a strength he could scarcely believe. It had been a long time since he felt the thrill of battle and yet it was nothing like this, nothing so close or spontaneous. They wore no armour, could expect no reinforcements and the only chance they had of victory was their own superior training and experience. The endless drills, exercises and simulations were never enough to prepare him for the knowledge that a single round could end his life. This time, however, that danger was more real than he could remember.

The Razor was a small ship and it did not take them long to reach the engine room. At that point the roar of the drive core was deafening, a wall of sound that nothing could penetrate.

A set of wide doors shuddered aside, their surface caked with crusted minerals from the ever-present vapour hanging in the air.

The Corsairs streamed into the room. It was large and dark, with great vents and shafts running up the wall, only to disappear into inky shadow. The core was set into the far wall, a great sphere of energy surrounded by thin metal gantries. It pulsed with crystalline waves of energy that washed over everything in the room, illuminating swathes of it for just a heartbeat before it sank back into darkness.

Standard room clearance still applied, and Jacob settled into the role with routine familiarity. As the last one through he skirted to the right as Weiss and Chen moved in the opposite direction. They would all take a route around the outer edge, eliminating anything in the middle before finally linking up at the far end of the room. It was a tactic developed centuries ago and yet it still worked to this day.

Several slavers stood dotted about the chamber, absorbed in their own tasks. No one spoke to one another. It would have been pointless; nothing could be heard in that tumultuous space.

Streams of rifle fire erupted across the room as the Corsairs opened up, tearing into slaver bodies while their companions ambled only feet away, completely unaware.

It was one of the most surreal things Jacob had seen, half a dozen men dropped with only the vicious drone and sporadic light of the drive core filling his senses.

The final batarian was poring over the core readouts at the end of the room. He hung his head wearily and wiped his first set of eyes with the back of his hand before turning around.

Immediately, the man froze at the sight of his crew lying in bloody ruin before him. His gaze raked the engine room for a moment. Then, without warning, his body convulsed as slugs ripped into his flesh and he slumped backwards over the gantry railing.

Weiss strode up to the body and shoved it methodically aside with her boot, not bothering to watch it plunge down into the black recesses of the chamber. Jacob approached a moment later, his sweep complete.

With quiet satisfaction, he looked on the scene of destruction. A lot of slavers lay dead with no alarm raised. That would soon change, but the advantage was theirs.

An omni-tool sprang to life on Weiss' wrist and she sent the clear signal to Dukov. Even if he had not enforced radio silence, nothing could be heard in the engine room and so they had to rely on visual communications. A reply flashed and Weiss looked up and nodded to the others. Dukov had taken the bridge.

Suddenly, the drive core grew quiet and the groans of machinery ceased around them. They looked at one another in surprise as emergency lights fluttered to life, replacing the pulsing blue of moments earlier with dozens of small pools of red.

Jacob's ears rang mercilessly and he fought back the urge to shake his head clear of the fuggy haze the engines had brought about.

'That's the drive core sorted,' Weiss muttered loudly, her voice uneven as her own ears struggled to adjust to the sudden change in volume. 'The major just sent his own signal. They have the bridge.'

Chen smiled broadly. 'So what's next, ma'am?'

'Life support,' she replied instantly as she checked her weapon, 'to make sure they don't shut it off in panic when they realise what's going on. None of us have suits or helmets on right now so if these pieces of varren shit vent the compartments, we'd be sucking on vacuum in less than a second. Hopefully it'll just be a precaution. Now the Major's got the bridge, he can distract them.'

'How's he gonna do that?' asked Jacob.

The answer came a heartbeat later, as a high-pitched drone began to scream through the ship, sending jarring echoes across the core room.

Chen and Jacob glanced at one another in confusion, and after a few seconds another sound added itself to the din. It was difficult to detect at first against the shrill cry but gradually the deep, ugly tones of a batarian VI overpowered the alarm.

'Abandon ship, abandon ship, abandon ship,' the VI droned staidly. 'All hands to escape pods. All hands to escape pods. User alert; engine deck unresponsive. Bridge unresponsive. Abandon ship, abandon ship, abandon ship.'

The brief instruction continued to blare out, repeating every few seconds and Jacob permitted himself a cautious grin. The crew would be in chaos, with their officers unresponsive and minimal power to the rest of the vessel. What little discipline the slavers had would be evaporating at that moment.

Nodding to herself, Weiss brought her Tsunami into her shoulder once again and looked at the two men.

'That should send 'em packing.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The JSTF command centre was alive once again. Men and women who had been working for over three days with little rest still typed busily or spoke with far-flung agents at their terminals without pause. It was still a place of energy that crackled with life as everyone worked ceaselessly to bring the Legion down.

Chellick watched them all from the central dais, resuming the supervisory role he had been forced to neglect as of late. He relished the feeling that came from standing on the raised platform, watching out over the heads of his team as haptic displays shifted around him, bristling with the latest information.

It was a feeling that had been denied him as meetings, briefings and other tedious details prevented him from attending the duties that befitted him the most and the turian smiled tightly as his eyes passed over Lorica's desk.

He had given the asari the role of co-ordinating the Illium operation and was curious to see how she would handle the responsibility. Technically, she was still under Lina but he knew the quarian had her hands full with the virus research. Lorica would have to step up to the task or be forced aside, as was so often the case in a profession that could brook no error, where everything had to be done perfectly the first time. Such pressure bred a certain kind of person as they were pushed to their very limits, and it was that very kind of which JSTF had to be comprised.

It was then Chellick frowned as he noticed Lorica was not at her desk. In fact, he could not remember seeing her there for some time.

He recalled Lina had mentioned the problem earlier and cursed softly to himself. Lorica knew they had only a few hours before they launched a raid that could bring a prominent member of the Legion into their custody.

_What is she thinking, going missing at a time like this?_

As he ground his teeth in frustration, Chellick did not notice Lina as she bounded up the dais ramp.

'Chellick,' she gasped between breaths. 'Chellick, we have a problem.'

Sighing inwardly, he clasped a hand to his temple. It was just one thing after another. He let his voice escape, unable to completely conceal his anger.

'What is it, Lina?'

'There's someone to see you,' she said and the seriousness in her tone made Chellick sweep aside his misgivings. Lina was not the kind of person to let trivial matters intrude on his time. 'At the front entrance. He's being handled by security but…' She trailed off and Chellick cleared his throat impatiently. '…but I don't know if we can keep him there for long. He wants access to the command centre and I'm not sure if his clearance level is low enough to deny him.'

This time, Chellick sighed aloud. 'All right,' he said wearily, 'I'll go now. Keep an eye on things here and let me know immediately if there are any developments.'

Lina nodded and Chellick strode purposefully down the dais ramp.

The compound's main entrance was discreet. Located within the bounds of C-Sec headquarters, it lay down a side corridor that branched off the main lobby, protected by a pair of armed guards and an airlock-style system of security doors and monitoring instruments.

The outer doors were closed but the inner ones were open, and the guards barred the way, making Chellick frown in sudden concern. Their backs faced him, as if to block passage.

As he drew nearer he saw one of them motion roughly towards the outer doors and the murmurs of raised voices began to drift down the corridor.

'What's going on here?' he demanded as he approached.

One of the guards, a fellow turian, snapped his head around at the commanding tone and immediately brought himself to attention.

'Sir,' he began, his expression a mixture of discomfort at his situation and relief at the arrival of someone else who could deal with it, 'we have a high-priority visitor. He wanted to go straight inside but due to the sensitive nature of JSTF, I-'

'You did the right thing, officer,' Chellick interrupted. He had neither the time nor patience to listen to his nervous babbling. 'Who is this so-called VIP?'

Slowly, the guard shuffled aside to reveal Ambassador Udina, his dark skin deepened with a flush of anger and indignation.

Chellick's heart felt as if it had ceased to beat and he cleared his throat, forcing a neutrality into his voice that he did not feel, 'Ambassador Udina,' he said lightly, 'this is an unexpected pleasure. Very unexpected indeed. We're not in the habit of receiving uninvited guests.'

Udina glared at him bitterly through narrowed eyes. 'Yes…Commander Chellick, I remember you from the meeting with the executor. I would express regret over the abruptness of my arrival but, frankly, it would be a lie. On behalf of the Systems Alliance, Commander, I am requesting a tour of these premises and an update on the status of the investigation.'

Chellick could only stare back at him with a carefully blank expression. Inside, his mind seethed with fears. Could Udina have discovered the intrusion into his office, or the Mantius program?

After a few, achingly long moments, Chellick forced himself into a more collected frame of mind. He could, under no circumstances, allow Udina to enter. If he saw them preparing to apprehend Vastra then he would ask questions, difficult ones, about how they came across intelligence that had been stored on diplomatic servers.

It worked both ways, he quickly realised. Udina would then be forced to admit they were withholding the information to begin with but the implications were hardly worth the risk.

With another frown, Chellick replied, betraying nothing of the maelstrom of thoughts turning inside his head, 'I'm sorry, Ambassador, but the answer is no. We're running under the highest possible security levels, even for politicians. At the moment, the only people cleared to enter these grounds are members of JSTF, the top three C-Sec officials and members of the Citadel Council. No exceptions.'

'I see,' Udina responded thoughtfully, his eyes travelling down momentarily before flickering back up. 'If my own status as a representative of humanity is not enough, then perhaps this will suffice.'

It was then Chellick noticed the datapad Udina was clutching, and he took it hesitantly. His eyes widened in their sockets as he read with increasing horror, and Udina grinned slightly.

With deliberate satisfaction, the ambassador stated the contents of the datapad aloud, smiling at the look on Chellick's face as the situation became shockingly clear, 'By the order of the asari councillor herself, I am to inspect the Joint Security Task Force and present my findings to her on completion. Is that enough authorisation for you, Commander?'

Chellick felt cold and distant. He nodded numbly at Udina before looking back down at the pad. The electronic signature was unmistakable and the seal of the Council offices clear and precise. The wording was curt, formal and broad, something Udina would no doubt take advantage of.

Possibilities swirled through Chellick's thoughts. As the seconds ticked by he ran through plausible scenarios, discarding impossibilities and retaining only the facts. One thing made itself absolutely clear to him; Udina had to be stalled at all costs.

Mustering his strength, he beckoned mutely to Udina and the two men made their way into JSTF.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The Razor's cargo bay was tiny compared to the sizeable hold of the Kowloon, Jacob saw as he stalked through the gloomy chamber.

Around him, the anarchy that had engulfed the ship had receded, the jettisoning of the last escape pod sending a resounding thump through the deck only minutes before.

All but three of the crew had run in blind terror. Those who had remained behind turned out to be the senior officers, all murdered by their fellow slavers as they’d tried to prevent the evacuation.

Jacob shook his head. In less than twenty minutes the Corsairs had completely subdued and conquered an enemy ship, killing sixteen crew and sending the others scrambling, all without sustaining a single loss. It would be one for the textbooks; if they were allowed to record it.

He grunted to himself as he wondered how many other such victories this squad had achieved, all to the ignorance of everyone around them.

The hold was still and silent, its racks filled with provisions and ammunition. The storage of the latter in such a place was another sign they were dealing with amateurs; one stray GARDIAN burst would find the stores and blow the ship in two.

'Hey!' Chen hissed from one of the dark corners. 'Hey Taylor, you'd better see this.'

Firming his lips, Jacob trotted to the source of the harsh whisper. He found Chen steeped in shadow in a dirty, neglected corner of the bay. His fellow sergeant looked troubled.

'What's wrong?' Jacob asked immediately.

Chen opened his mouth to reply, but held back and instead merely nodded to his left. Frowning, Jacob stepped forward and was surprised to see the darkness drop away suddenly as a small room loomed on his approach.

He raised his hand, unable to trust his eyes and the feeling of cool, roughly cast metal greeted his outstretched fingers. It was a mesh fence, he realised, crudely made and stretched across the room's entrance. He narrowed his gaze as he caught movement beyond. Something was inside, and he reached for his omni-tool, intent on finding out what it was.

'Careful now,' Chen mumbled as the flashlight turned on, painting a white circle at their feet. Jacob ignored him and turned the beam towards the darkness beyond the fence.

'Oh my God…' he said aloud.

It took several moments for him to recognise the things inside as living creatures. There were six in all - full-sized adults, thick with dirt and encrusted filth and dressed in the tattered remnants of clothing. Four were humans, two males and two females. All shielded their eyes from the light but the last, a young woman with matted, unwashed blonde hair, stared out at them blankly.

Something about her eyes chilled Jacob to the bone. They were dead, devoid of emotion or feeling. They peered out from a bony face smeared with scrapes and stains.

The final two figures were an asari and a salarian. Each had sunk back to the furthest corner of the cell, and the asari had drawn her knees up into her arms, rocking gently on the spot.

'Slaves?' Chen asked, his voice quiet with dread and shock.

'Looks like it,' Jacob spat in disgust. 'God only knows how long these people have been here. We need to get them out.'

Chen nodded. 'I'll call it in.'

Jacob spoke in low, reassuring tones as he pried the fence open. It had been hastily erected, he found, clearly a temporary measure.

The slaves regarded him with their dull eyes, and made no effort to speak. Even when the fence was torn aside and Jacob calmly goaded them out of the cell, they moved obediently and silently, their heads bowed deeply so as not to meet his gaze.

'I can't believe this,' Jacob said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He could clearly see them now. All six were malnourished and filthy, appearing almost skeletal as what little flesh they had was drawn tightly across their bones. Collars bound their necks and Jacob’s teeth ground together in rage as he saw brand marks had been seared painfully onto the skin of their backs.

'This is a slaver ship,' Chen pointed out. 'What did you expect to find?'

Jacob didn’t reply. No one had raised the question before the assault. There hadn't been time. Now they were faced with an even greater problem than before.

'What do we do with these people?' he wondered. 'Do we take them with us?'

'That's up to the major,' Chen responded. The young man looked over the squalid group, his appalled expression deepening with every second. 'This is inhuman. The damn Council should be trying to put an end to this.'

'If they did, I'd volunteer in a second,' Jacob concurred furiously.

Weiss emerged at their backs, her surly expression drawing dark shadows across her face. 'What's all this bloody noise about? Can't you two-'

Her words were stolen by the sight of the slaves, and her next was barely a faint muttering under her breath.

'Shit.'

'Prisoners, ma'am,' Jacob reported formally, 'all branded and broken, by the looks of it. They haven't made a sound since we found 'em.'

'Probably been here a while, then,' she said. Even the warrant officer's stony façade had fallen at the sheer horror of the scene before her. 'My guess is they were bought elsewhere for sale on the market. If they were new captures then they'd be screaming at us to free them. Right now though, they're…'

Weiss trailed off as her eyes met those of the blonde girl. The warrant officer swallowed hard before forcing her cold face.

Jacob pressed closer, unwilling to let her drop the subject. 'Ma'am, we have to free them. The Kowloon's big enough and look at them; they're in no position to pilot a ship. They're barely able to move. If we leave these people alone, they're going to die.'

The warrant officer pursed her lips, clearly at a rare loss. 'This isn't our decision,' she said evenly, 'and the mission has to come first, Taylor. It always has to come first.'

'And how are we any better than those terrorists if we just leave them behind?' he asked. 'Ma'am, you know it's the right thing to do. We can take them aboard the freighter, turn them over to Illium's police force and keep the Razor for ourselves.'

Another voice rang out from the darkness, 'And do you think Illium's security officials will just let us walk away after turning them in?'

Dukov stepped into a nearby pool of light, his arms folded sternly.

'Or do you think they'll want to question the men and women who liberated them? Do you think they'll be a little curious as to how a freighter crew barely more than half a dozen strong managed to seize a batarian slaver ship?'

He was followed closely by Winterbourne, Miller and Hammond, their faces grim masks, impossible to read. Jacob straightened and replied with as much conviction as he could muster.

'We could just say we found the ship adrift, abandoned. Hell, an anonymous tip would do; it’s better than leaving them to die. The authorities might not believe it but who's gonna argue?’

'Besides them?' Dukov replied, nodding towards the slaves.

Jacob looked to the ground. He did not believe the pitiful bunch were in a state to tell anyone anything. It would take years of therapy to even begin to undo the damage that had been done to them.

Dukov placed his hands on his hips and shook his head slowly. 'Under ordinary circumstances, Taylor, I'd agree with you. I’d cast them off with a distress signal and pray a patrol found them first but things are far from ordinary right now. We have a job to do and we've already wasted enough precious time. We need to focus on getting to Illium and taking down Vastra.'

'Sir,' Chen spoke up, his expression filled with doubt. 'I know it’s a risk but Jacob's got a point, we can't just leave them here. You were there for the Blitz, you saw what those batarian animals did to people back then. We all saw it. Can you honestly let these ones die after what we did trying to save them all those years back?'

Chen’s eyes searched his comrades' for support, resting on Miller at the last. He gazed at his friend pleadingly but the big man turned his head, unwilling to take sides.

Dukov's features softened for a moment in sympathy. 'I know this is about Lynn,' he said quietly, 'and I can't blame you for wanting to save others from her fate. But this is more important than you or me, Sergeant. This is about the lives of thousands, perhaps even millions of people. This isn't just about the time we'd lose. If anyone, _anyone_ finds out who we are, if any of these people ID us, it could start a war. I can't take that risk.'

Jacob scowled at the major. He could not believe what he was hearing. 'So that's it?' he asked, angrily. 'We're just gonna leave these people to starve?'

Weiss stepped forward. 'You're going to follow orders, Jacob. None of us like it but if you can't do something so bloody simple then we'll leave you here with them.'

Jacob returned her cold glare as the others looked on in silence. 'I can take that chance.'

The sergeant turned his back to Weiss and made for the asari slave, reaching out to comfort her.

Suddenly, the slave shook as her chest was torn to wet, purple tatters and she dropped to the ground without a sound.

Jacob blinked as her blood streaked across his face and watched in terror as the other prisoners too were executed, falling to the floor in a series of dull thumps.

His horrified gaze swept across the bodies, their eyes as still and lifeless in death as they had been moments before. The moment pressed in on him, bringing on a sudden feeling of nausea, and the ringing in his ears that had accompanied the assault on the drive core returned.

After what seemed an age, his eyes finally turned to Dukov. The major still held the pistol, outstretched and smoking from the barrel. His features were as emotionless as the corpses at their feet.

'We're moving on,' Dukov announced clearly, his voice husky yet still strong enough to command. 'Kristen, you and Hammond get your rack time. Miller, Winterbourne, I want you on cleanup. Dispose of the bodies then get some rest. Chen, Taylor...' He hesitated at Jacob's sullen expression. ' _Taylor?_ '

Hearing his name seemed to snap Jacob out of his malaise, though he still appeared unsteady. The others took a step closer, well aware of what the shock of seeing such a thing could to do someone the first time around.

They hid their relief as finally, Jacob responded with a shallow, silent nod.

'You guys get up to the bridge and begin your watch,' Dukov continued. 'This is our ship now. Good work, people.'

The team murmured their agreement without enthusiasm. The final act of the assault had wiped clean the surge of confidence they had felt at pulling off the daring attack, and they shuffled away without a word to one another.

Not one of the others could meet Jacob's eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

Yaro stepped between the thick streams of pedestrians flooding through the busy midday market, cursing as he went.

The market was at the far end of the Zakera ward arm and outside a window to his right, the Presidium ring linked them all together, silhouetted against the light beyond the nebula. From Yaro’s left came raised voices as a volus ship salesman haggled and bartered with a customer, no doubt swindling them out of every credit he could.

Yaro pushed roughly between a pair of hanar and they paused mid-conversation, their flanks rippling with anger at his lack of manners. He did not care and simply ignored them, his eyes scanning for his partner amidst the rabble.

Despite the thick press of passers-by, Yaro picked out the C-Sec colours of Brasca's armour at the corner of his vision and immediately pursed his lips in irritation. The turian was at a ramen kiosk, standing eagerly as steam welled up around him from beyond the counter. The noise of the crowd was too great to be heard, even if he shouted and so Yaro forced his way through the mass without consideration, almost knocking over a volus in the process.

Ahead, he saw Brasca laugh out in pleasure as a heap of noodles were hauled from a large pan and into a bowl in a single great mop, sending flecks of hot water in all directions. The chef looked up at him, grinning mischievously. 

'Hey, watch it there!' Brasca chuckled as he ducked beneath the scalding spray. 'Come on already, I haven't got all damn day!'

The chef, a scrawny, golden skinned old human, roared with laughter and yelled something back, the words a string of gibberish to Yaro's ears. He was an odd one for his race, with thin, dark eyes that glimmered with amusement at his alien customer.

Yaro approached, his mouth twitching with the effort of keeping his annoyance in check.

'What the hell are you doing?' he hissed.

Brasca looked at him with an almost pompous air of achievement. 'This place went dextro-friendly last week. Always wanted to try this stuff.'

'You were supposed to meet me at Delan's place thirty minutes ago. Instead I find you here, more interested in shoving this human junk down your gluttonous throat than this amazing plan of mine that'll make us both millionaires by the end of the week! I mean seriously, what about this place is so fascinating? What the hell is that stuff?'

'Humans call it 'ramen',' Brasca replied as he fiddled awkwardly with two thin wooden sticks, attempting to clutch them between his three clumsy digits. 'Supposed to taste good but damn if I'll ever be able to eat it. How are you supposed to-'

The chef laughed and uttered a humoured response in his strange language, picking up two sticks of his own. Yaro frowned impatiently as the human attempted to show Brasca how to hold them, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his customer was short two fingers. Yaro looked down at the bowl his friend huddled over and cringed in disgust at the sight of what looked like pale worms and soft, slimy brown lumps.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he snapped in the turian's ear, straining to be heard over the clattering of plates, 'I didn't realise it was 'learn to eat revolting crap with twigs' day! Do you want to get rich or would you rather I left you here to your alien fetishes?'

'Oh, so you just…' Brasca muttered to the chef, sticks in hand before turning his head to Yaro. 'Come on man, it's been a long shift. Apedd wouldn't pay his protection fee so I had to get a little rough. Worked up an appetite setting that little prick straight. You should try some of this, you know, get a little variety in your life. Sample some new things. Maybe you'll loosen up a little.'

'I feel plenty loose as it is right now,' Yaro replied as he looked out on the market crowds. 'Since you're obviously dying to know, I activated the VI no problem. As soon as someone uses that machine in Flux we'll be seeing our first profits within the week.'

'I know,' Brasca replied, his words muffled as the food sloshed in his mouth. 'You said all that already this morning, remember? I thought you were gonna wait around anyway? You know, keep an eye on things?'

Yaro brought a hand to his smooth forehead with a slap. 'I _was_ waiting around. Unfortunately, the plan involved you meeting me there and, as I already pointed out, your presence was distinctly lacking!'

Brasca's brow twisted and he looked at the salarian quizzically as a long, wet noodle dangled from his lips. 'What?'

Yaro's hand remained on his forehead for a moment before slowly moving down to cover his eyes. 'Oh man…you are getting me so angry.'

Brasca ignored him to focus on stuffing another wad of lunch into his maw. He spoke again, this time spraying a generous portion of it into the air.

'So, are you going to tell me your source yet? I just think it's funny that this guy you know is so connected and smart but he hasn't tried to do what you're doin'. Why isn't he out there already on Illium, living it up with alien babes on the beach?'

'He ain't as smart as me. I'd have thought that was obvious. Besides,' Yaro paused to take a seat next to Brasca, 'the guy owed me. He blew two grand on the pit varren ring I run for Fist down on level fifteen. It was easy. I threatened to haul him in and let Fist take it out of his hide, or he makes it up to me somehow and that lout never gets wind of the debt. Spawn's play.'

'So he's not a friend, like you said?' Brasca grumbled.

'They're all friends with Yaro,' the salarian replied with a mocking gesture. 'Don't you worry about the details, good buddy of mine, I got everything covered.'

Brasca hid his disapproval by scooping up the rest of his ramen, tilting the bowl to angle the soft mass down his throat but Yaro could read him like a datapad. He had known Brasca for years, since the brutish turian had joined the force and it was Yaro who had shown him how to use the pent-up aggression he’d carried from his legion discharge to turn a profit.

Brasca set down his bowl and belched loudly, prompting a chuckle from the chef. 'All right, all right, you know best. Let's go and see this thing quickly then, I want to get across to that pissy little used shuttle salesman in Tayseri before our shift ends.'

Brasca slipped from his seat and Yaro twitched irritably as he was forced to his feet only seconds after sitting down.

They had taken only a few steps before a sharp, hacking shout rang out behind them.

'Hey!'

The pair turned back as one to find the ramen chef leaning over the counter, his hand resting on the bowl Brasca had just used.

'You eat, you pay!' he yelled out. His voice was an indignant snap and his forehead glistened with sweat. 'You pay now!'

Brasca glanced at Yaro and a flicker of amusement passed over his eyes before he began to stalk his way back towards the kiosk.

Yaro shook his head. He could only hope this would not take too long.

The turian approached the counter and the chef blinked, suddenly nervous. The ridges of Brasca's paintless skin was etched with the light around him, from the gentle purple of the nebula beyond the kiosk to the thick lines of yellow and orange of the kiosk sign. The market noise clattered around them hollowly, the voices of hundreds mixing into one.

Brasca leaned forward to place his hands on the counter.

'Officer Brasca eats for free,' he said, slowly. 'Understand?'

Yaro was unsure if the little man really did understand, but his tone was unmistakable. To his surprise, the chef did not back down and spoke again, a fat drop of sweat quivering on the end of his nose.

'You pay. _Now._ '

Brasca brought his head forward, stopping a mere inch from the chef's face. His lips parted to reveal a small, wicked smile.

'Looks like I'm gonna have to make this a little clearer.'

A wail of shock went up from the market crowd as Brasca snatched the bowl from the counter and, taking a firm grip of the chef's shirt, brought it down on his head with a loud crack. The human yelped in pain and shrieked as Brasca hauled him over the counter, turning him over until his back arched painfully over the edge. Nearby, Yaro did his best to wave away the onlookers as his friend went to work, hammering his fist into the helpless chef's face.

'I. Told. _You,_ ' Brasca snarled. Each word was timed as his blows connected and every strike from the powerful turian's armoured knuckles scored ragged, bloody lines in the chef’s soft skin. 'Officer. Brasca. Eats. For. _Free!_ '

'Yes!' the human gurgled from behind broken teeth. 'Please, no more. You eat for free, I remember!'

'Officer Yaro too?'

'Yes, partner too!' he moaned. 'Please! Please stop!'

With a grin of satisfaction, Brasca released his grip, taking a moment to wipe the blood from his fist onto the chef’s apron.

'Glad we could do business,' he said before leaning down to speak quietly into his ear, 'and if you even think about telling anyone about this, I'll know. You just remember what I said and we'll get along just fine.'

Rising once again, he mockingly straightened the man’s crumpled, stained apron. 'Nice place you got here, by the way.'

The onlookers who had gathered were startled out of their paralysis as Brasca turned, and every one of them hurried about their way as he cast his unflinching gaze in their direction. Only Yaro remained, and he turned to join Brasca as they strode out towards the nearest shuttle station.

'Why the hell did you get me involved? You know I'm not interested in that crap,' he muttered, drawing a smirk from the turian as they were swallowed by the glut of shoppers once more.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

From the very beginning, Udina's dark eyes were constantly on the move.

They searched the walls of every corridor they strolled through, the faces of every JSTF staff they passed, even the coffee that had just been offered to him in a steaming mug. He eyed the rich, brown liquid with something like suspicion at first until the aroma enticed him into taking a first, tentative sip.

‘We get it in for the human staff,’ Chellick explained, gesturing for his guest to take a seat.

Udina obliged slowly, lowering himself into a waiting chair as he held the coffee cup to his lips, hiding much of his face.

Chellick took a seat opposite. After the initial surprise of Udina’s sudden appearance, he had taken the opportunity to herd the ambassador through every narrow hall and passage in the complex, stopping at every inconsequential room and office without so much as a glimpse of the beating heart of the task force.

Udina was searching for something specific, of that Chellick had no doubt. He kept his gaze fixed on the ambassador from across the table, his neutral demeanour holding in check a powerful, compulsive desire to take more drastic measures. 

The tiny break room in which they’d finally broken from the slothful pace Chellick was setting had only the barest of refreshment dispensers but that was not why he had brought Udina there. The glare of the room's piercing white light was intentionally harsh, meant to subtly dissuade any loiterers but now the JSTF commander was using it to his advantage. Now it was a gentle weapon, meant to erode Udina's patience and sap his resolve without him even realising it. It was a stress device, as innocuous as the cup that lay on the table before him.

Either Udina would let slip his intentions, or Chellick would be able to hide his own more successfully.

 _This is my home turf,_ the turian thought to himself as he pushed his doubts aside, _and I will not be outmatched on it._

'We’re wasting time, Commander,' Udina began, frowning at the bitterness of the coffee. 'I have the authority of the asari councillor herself to conduct an inspection of JSTF and we have not even seen the main command centre.  How am I supposed to judge the effectiveness of this operation if I can’t see it conducted?'

Chellick did not reply immediately, choosing instead to observe Udina carefully, his hands clasped together in thought. When the response came it was calm.

'I'm saving the best for last, Ambassador,' he said. His eyes were jade orbs that glinted with anxious excitement. 'There's far more to JSTF than one room, after all.  We will get to the command centre in good time.  I’m sure the councillor will want you to report on all aspects of this team and our facilities.'

It was a flimsy excuse at best but Udina would not be so blunt as to call him out on it. _This man too has his own secrets to hide,_ Chellick reminded himself, _secrets that he too will be fighting to keep._

Udina forced a smile.  'As you say, though I'm simply worried that your team may be missing you. Without careful supervision, I have found that subordinates can get themselves into all kinds of trouble.'

Chellick showed nothing of his inner tension and merely smiled back in agreement, though his mind reeled at the words Udina had used. Chellick knew he had covered Garrus' tracks well enough, that there was no way the ambassador could find out the truth.

Countless questions raced through his mind at once but he took solace in one thing; that if his actions had truly been uncovered he would be facing Executor Pallin at that very moment. That left only one thing, one possibility, and he cleared his throat softly as he prepared to guide the exchange in that direction.

'Speaking of supervision,' Chellick said as casually as he could, 'I'm curious to know how the asari councillor has gotten herself involved in the first place.' He kept his tone light, as if speaking to an old friend, while partially obscuring his mouth with his intertwined fingers. 'When JSTF was established, it was to operate with a minimum of political interference, with no second-guessing from anyone but the executor. How did you manage to convince her to give you that authorisation?'

The question was posed humbly, as a chess player would congratulate an opponent on a master stroke, and Udina's smiled widened at the perceived compliment.

'I didn't need to. She approached me, Commander and before you ask, no, she did not say why. I believe she simply realised how poorly humanity has been treated in this matter, how we have been brushed aside, and that in the interests of galactic cohesion we must all start being a little more transparent with one another.'

'I see,' Chellick mumbled as the gears of his thoughts frantically turned once more. 'So she was acting alone? Have either of the other two councillors approached you?'

Udina slowly raised a hand to his head and massaged his temples. 'No,' he answered distractedly, 'now if you would be so kind, please show me the way to the command centre. We've wasted enough of our time already and the lighting here is giving me a headache.'

Chellick suppressed a smile as he rose to his feet. He had enough information to go on for now. It was finally time to move on before Udina grew too suspicious, though the constant worry that plagued him over the Coleran Vastra intel surfaced in his stomach once again.

His lips twitched slightly as he resigned himself to the only course of action he could take. He would throw the dice, as he had so often been forced to do, and see where they fell.

The command centre was a storm of activity as Lorica's team prepared to oversee Vastra's apprehension. Those who were seated at their desks pored over their terminals, their hands a blur as they typed communiqués and reports. Those who stood were deep in conversation with fellow analysts and agents and the shifting hues of omni-tools spattered the room with dabs of amber light.

Udina stepped ahead of Chellick as they walked down the central path and the turian stared at his back intently, glad the ambassador could not see his own nerves at work. His stomach churned in anticipation of the next few moments.

Emblazoned on the main screen at the far end, Coleran Vastra's file spilled across the vision of all in the room. Next to his picture and profile, details of the upcoming operation were listed; times, personnel, equipment, assets, everything those involved needed to know at a glance.

'Looks like you got here just in time,' said Chellick. 'We're preparing to arrest a major suspect, a high-ranking member of the Forgotten Legion, to be precise. With any luck, he will lead us straight to their base of operations and we can finally bring Krassus in.'

Chellick watched, aching to see Udina's reaction, if only to read what must be going through his mind. The ambassador's body remained rooted to the spot but his head turned, his expression guarded. His lips moved very slightly, as if he wanted to ask a question, while his brow was creased in the faintest trace of a frown.

Such minute signs would be almost impossible for the untrained eye to discern but reading them had been part of Chellick's life as an undercover officer for years now.

He tilted his head curiously. 'Is something wrong, Ambassador?'

Udina shuddered faintly and Chellick was suddenly convinced the ambassador was not aware of Garrus’ data theft. He could tell how Udina yearned to ask how they knew of Vastra, and the moment held until Udina visibly composed himself, clearing his throat to speak.

'That is excellent news, Commander, though I am curious to know how you managed to track him down?'

Chellick struggled to hide his elation. Not only had Udina's bluff been called, but Chellick’s instincts had been right. Udina was no more keen to throw accusations around than Chellick was; at least not without proof.

The commander grinned, his mandibles flexing gently as he decided to twist the knife.

'Intelligence comes in many forms, Ambassador. We have a large team of field agents, each reporting back to us every few minutes with new information. I would have thought that would be obvious enough, with respect.'

'Yes, but-' Udina stopped and his expression twisted as he fought to restrain himself. After a moment of indecision, he returned Chellick's smile amiably. 'After our meeting the other day, I was simply under the impression that your leads were few. I am…glad to see that is not the case.'

The forced pleasantness was like sweet wine to Chellick and he gestured to the screen in private triumph. 'You're free to stay and observe, if you want?'

'That…won't be necessary,' Udina mumbled.

'Then I trust our business here is complete.' Chellick motioned for a nearby agent, and a young human woman stepped eagerly up to them. 'Everson, please escort the ambassador from the building. I hope you found everything to your satisfaction?'

The question was accompanied by a thin smile and Udina narrowed his eyes warily. Beside them, the female agent shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the odd silence that had come between the two men.

After several seconds of tense waiting, Udina finally returned the smile, though his lips were stretched thin by his reluctance.

'I will make my report to the councillor, Commander. Thank you for your time.'

The reply was deliberately ambiguous, though Chellick did not dwell on it. Instead, he turned to the centre of the room and strode towards the central dais, intent on reclaiming the time Udina's visit had stolen.

He looked out on his bustling subordinates, filled with the warmth of satisfaction at having evicted Ambassador Udina in his stunned state. It had been a victory but he could not allow himself to get complacent. If Udina was not suspicious before then he most certainly was now, and with the asari councillor involved Chellick would have to tread carefully.

That was another matter entirely, and one that did not inspire Chellick with as much confidence. He believed Udina's claim that Councillor Tevos had approached him privately, perhaps even without the knowledge of the other councillors. It was a troubling development and for now he had no clue as to why she was on Udina's side.

A raised voice caught his attention and he followed the source to Lina's desk, far to his left. The quarian had cried out in horror as Garrus tried to take a seat on her desk; almost crushing a stack of precious OSDs in the process.

Garrus. Chellick's eyes focused on him, widening in realisation. The noise of the command centre receded as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing the cold, lifeless face of the asari I'Layna Naris; Councillor Tevos’ aide. It was the only connection Chellick could make and that alone made his blood run cold.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen looked up at Vastra's apartment building, a squat cylinder of cold blue stone lined with deep channels of dark windows. It was ugly by asari standards and was tucked discreetly between several taller structures, as if they were deliberately trying to hide it, towering overhead and casting long, murky shadows over the streets. 

He tried to ignore the biting winds that tugged at his neck, threatening to work into the smallest gaps of his armour. Though the sun was strong that afternoon, it did not touch that place and Arlen clamped his jaw tightly together to stop his teeth from chattering.

In need of a distraction, he glanced at the refuse lining the wide road surrounding the building. A trickle of civilians wandered down it, keeping a respectable distance from the group of police officers that milled loosely in the area. There were no lights and sirens for fear of alerting their target but Anaya could not allow the public to place themselves in harm's way and had her people warn off those that strayed too near.

It was a dark, hidden part of Nos Astra, far from the glamour of the upper reaches. This was a different city entirely, and Arlen began to see what Anaya was referring to when speaking of it with such bitterness.

The captain stood with him, gazing up across the curved face of the apartment block. The afternoon sky was a deep azure crack between the buildings, making the gloom of the streets seem all the darker by comparison. It made Arlen itch to find a rooftop, if only to enjoy the sight of that beautiful, clear blue expanse.

Anaya murmured an instruction to one of her officers before talking to Arlen directly.

'Sniper teams are in position. Fareye One,' she began, pointing to one of the massive towers immediately to their left, 'has direct line of sight into the apartment itself. They'll be providing over watch should you run into any trouble.'

'And the others?'

'Fareye Two is watching the building's main entrance from the third floor of that building,' she replied, gesturing to their right. 'Finally, Fareye Three has the roof. Those are the only exits, so between all three teams we shouldn't have any difficulty.' 

Arlen cocked a brow. 'The roof has an exit?'

'The roof _is_ an exit,' Anaya retorted with a wry grin, 'for anyone desperate enough that is. You never can tell with these types.'

Arlen nodded his satisfaction. He would be well-protected from afar. 'And the ground team? Is Detective Keller in position?'

'See for yourself.'

Anaya jerked her head over to where Keller stood with a small team of asari, each one encased in gleaming, polished combat armour. The signature C-Sec black and blue marked Keller out instantly, and Arlen felt himself flush as he saw how well the hard suit accentuated the curves of her body.

He coughed suddenly and faced forward, his abruptness drawing a curious glance from Anaya.

'Are you okay?' she asked.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' he replied quickly, 'I was just wondering how she's taking to the role.'

Shrugging, Anaya crossed her arms and resumed her observation of the apartments. 'After talking to her, I can see she's sharp and knows her stuff. Can't ask for any more than that.'

Arlen hesitated. He wanted to offer another apology for Chellick's interference but knew there would be no point. Instead, he focused on what needed to be done. 'And she'll enter the building if anything happens?'

'We're all listening in,' Anaya confirmed. 'You have a direct link to both us down here and your friends over in JSTF. We're feeding them information by the second, so between our reports and your transmitters, they won't miss a beat.'

'Speaking of,' Arlen wondered aloud as he pawed at the odd device that Anaya had attached to the breastplate of his suit, 'just how sophisticated is this thing?'

'Audio only. Normally we'd push for video too but considering the data has to be transmitted through several comm-buoys, JSTF decided to just stick to the basics for speed's sake. Just don't forget to take it off before you go to the bathroom.'

Arlen looked at Anaya with raised brows and smiled as he saw her dry expression. 'I'll keep that in mind, Captain. Is there anything else I need to know?'

Anaya shook her head. 'My people have been watching that apartment for twenty-four hours now. If there was anything funny going on, they'd have noticed. I don't like to say it out loud but I think we may well have just caught a break, simple as that.'

Arlen let his eyes wander over the apartment building one more time, his mandibles moving gently as he swallowed his trepidation.

He wanted to believe it too, but nothing so far had been this simple. When he went after I'Layna Naris he had run into Crixus. When he investigated Bithcon Dynamics he discovered Petra. When he delved into the darkest recesses of Omega he came across the name of the salarian renegade, Yanus.

Nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he half-expected Vastra to turn into a thresher maw, just to provide another odd turn.

Sighing softly to himself, he straightened and looked at Anaya. 'Okay, let's get this done.'

With a sharp nod of confirmation from the captain, Arlen crossed the street alone. As he left the busy voices of the police officers behind, his senses seemed to sharpen. The bitter wind that coursed through the street held an icy snap, bringing with it the sharp tang of the garbage that lay strewn along the thoroughfare.

It was with relief that he stepped into the darkened lobby of the apartment block. The breeze was reduced to a low moan at his back and his nostrils were filled with the sterile odour of cleaning chemicals as he wandered through the empty hall.

It was eerily quiet, with only the tapping of his feet on the hard stone to fill the air. A bank of elevators lay to his right, behind a row of square pillars, and Arlen grimaced at the _Out of Order_ signs that had been crudely daubed across them in three languages. His muscles were still sore and they ached anew in protest as he turned his gaze grudgingly to the stairs that lay directly in front of him.

'Petra?' he asked tentatively, his eyes moving from side to side with unerring caution. It was the first time he had dared bring out the AI in public since leaving the Citadel. 'Petra, are you there?'

His omni-tool sprung to life, and Petra's voice chirped happily from within.

'Of course, Arlen, how can I help?'

'I was just thinking. Can you do something about these elevators? I really, _really_ don't want to take the stairs.'

He blinked in surprise as she sighed loudly, mocking him. 'So lazy! All right, find service access point and I'll see what I can do.'

Arlen spotted one such access point sitting just next to the elevators, a small, square panel clearly marked against the otherwise featureless wall.

A small indentation lay at the top of the panel, into which Arlen tucked his fingers and smoothly pulled down. A terminal folded out and immediately turned on, giving a faint yellow glow to everything around it.

'Opening a connection, and…' Petra mumbled. She spoke again, though this time her voice came from within the terminal. 'I'm in! Hmm…nope, elevators broken for many years now. No maintenance staff employed, not after last one was…oh, interesting…'

'Come on, Petra,' Arlen said, eager to cut through her curious rambling. 'Focus - is there anything you can tell me about Vastra or his apartment from the building's records?'

Petra hummed again. 'Power and water consumption steady for past several days. Door unopened, though. Vastra has been living there, without coming out. Why not? Big city, so interesting and full of people!'

Arlen held back a smile at her simple logic. 'I don't know, but I intend to find out. Tell you what, why don't you stay in there a while, see what else you can dig up? I can pick you up from anywhere in the building, right?'

'From anywhere in sector!' she beamed. 'All same network!'

'That's good,' Arlen answered and instinctively loosened his Striker from his holster as he eyed the stairwell once again with an expression of hatred. 'Wish me luck.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The turian shifted in his seat, ignoring the whiskey bottle as it fell from the couch with a dull thud. It rolled in front of him, glinting at his feet as it caught the thin strip of light peering from the shuttered window. He could see a faint reflection in the glass, twisting and morphing as the bottle settled into place and he almost grimaced at the image that stared back at him.

His rough, pitted red skin looked tired, making him seem even older than he was. His face paint had not been reapplied for many days now, and the black ink was dry and cracked, flaking from the skin like wisps of dark snow whenever he moved.

He frowned angrily and clumsily kicked out at the bottle, sending it spinning across the ground before it came to rest against a pile of soiled, unwashed clothing. The turian grunted at the sight. He knew he lived in filth, and that even if he wanted to, his own inebriation would stop him from cleaning it up. All he wanted to do was simply exist in that one spot, lounging in front of the vid-screen with its endless cycle of cheap Fornax shows and straight-to-extranet movies.

A sudden chime cut through the stale air and the turian looked up sharply.

His front door lay to the left, past the tiny kitchen. His frown grew even more bitter as he levered himself unsteadily from the couch.

Another long, high note droned from the door and the turian paced across the room, eager to send away whoever it was that insisted on disturbing him.

He placed a hand on the door with a heavy thump and leaned into it, doing his best to regain some of his senses.

'Yeah, what do you want?' the turian barked, his voice cracking as it was forced from a sore, parched throat.

'Coleran Vastra?'

Vastra's eyes rose at the sound of his own name, then darted about the apartment in alarm. He moistened his lips anxiously.

'Wh-who wants to know?'

Pressing his eyes shut hard, Vastra willed himself to think, to focus as the visitor replied.

'My name is Agent Arlen Kryik. I've come by the authority of Citadel Security and Illium Security Forces to place Coleran Vastra under arrest for his involvement in the terrorist attack on the Citadel three days ago.'

The voice outside was young, Vastra assessed through the haze of his drunkenness, young and unmistakably turian.

For a moment, he twitched, his head jerking towards his vid-screen. He always kept a pistol behind it, in case of emergencies. He banished the idea quickly, however and swallowed deeply, eager to work the dryness from his mouth.

'You got the wrong guy,' he argued, 'I don't know anyone named Vastra.'

'Then you wouldn't mind opening the door and answering a few questions, would you?' the younger turian asked pointedly.

Vastra let out a tired breath and slumped against the door in weary resignation.

This was it, he realised, and again he fought his body as it urged him to flee. He had long ago learned to master the dumb beast and he would not let his instincts get the better of him. Some men called such a thing courage but he did not view it so romantically. He simply knew that this was his only chance and he would not let his own body betray him.

The door hissed open to reveal the youthful owner of the voice. He was even more boyish than he sounded, Vastra thought as he narrowed his eyes.

The C-Sec agent's skin was dark, and his fringe had not yet reached its full length. The striking, white Edessa colony markings he bore were those of a mere teenager, lacking the thick eye-framing lines that marked their passage into true manhood.

His disbelief must have been evident in his expression. Agent Kryik too regarded Vastra with an air of suspicion, his nostril slits closing as the stench of the apartment seeped out into the hallway. The expression hardened into recognition as he took in Vastra’s features.

Vastra doubted his exhausted, glassy eyes did his file photos any justice as they peered out of sunken sockets. It was clear he had not slept in days and he wondered if the agent was disappointed to find him in such a state.

'May I come in?' Arlen asked, with little in his tone to suggest his politeness was merely artificial.

What scraps of resistance Vastra had shown behind the door deserted him. He saw the determination in Arlen's eyes and knew there would be no point in arguing or denying his identity. His head bowed slightly and he nodded to himself.

'I knew someone would come for me. Perhaps I was hoping it would be you.'

Arlen visibly struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. 'What did you say? But aren't you a senior officer of the Forgotten Legion?'

'I am indeed,' Vastra replied with a weak smile. 'One of the first, as it happens. But come inside. It won't do to discuss these things out in the hallway.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'And we have a positive ID on Coleran Vastra,' Milo stated triumphantly.

Around him, the other task force members were too busy to reply but the mood of success was strong in the air nonetheless.

'Voice analogues match samples taken through both his former military lectures and surveillance recordings after forming the Legion. We're almost there, guys!'

Behind him, Lorica stood at her desk, looking at her human lover affectionately. His work excited him immensely and she always enjoyed the look on his face when the team achieved something; that infectious smile he gave when things were going their way. His energy was like a stimulant to her; she absorbed it, keen to let it soak into her senses and spur her on.

Milo leaned back to glance over his shoulder at her and for a moment, Lorica wanted to laugh.

She did not know what it was about humans that captivated her so. Perhaps it was that energy, that inescapable sense of excitement they exuded. Their lives were short and so they lived every day as if it were their last. Compared to Milo, her asari sisters were stolid and dull, content to let time claim their years in the complacent knowledge that there were many more to come.

He gave Lorica a suggestive wink and the analyst's lips quivered. She wanted to smile but the gesture faltered. He looked at her with mild concern, a silent question to her.

Frowning gently, Lorica bit down on her lower lip and, with a slight shake of her head, she turned and walked away from her desk.

Milo stared dumbfounded as he watched Lorica exit the command centre and he quickly threw a worried glance in Chellick's direction. Their commander was deep in conversation with a subordinate and did not seem to have noticed her departure.

Milo shifted as indecision gripped him. He wanted to go after her but to do so would risk drawing too much attention, not to mention the fact that an operation was well underway; one that required all their attentions.

Wincing at the difficulty of his position, Milo leaned over his desk and activated his intercom.

'Lina? It's Milo.'

The quarian's voice came through clearly, as did the spike of irritation in her tone, 'What is it, Milo? I'm incredibly busy here and I can't afford to be disturbed.'

'Hey, tell me something I don't know,' he replied, 'but you know I wouldn't be calling unless it was serious.'

Lina sighed in frustration, the sound harsh over the tinny speakers. 'All right, I'm on my way over.'

It would not take long for her to arrive but nevertheless, Milo could not stop his eyes from passing nervously over the command centre. They rested on Chellick more than once but thankfully the turian showed no sign that he was aware of what was happening.

The ticks and chimes of terminals blended with a hundred murmuring voices to create a tense wall of sound, one that Milo listened to intently for even the slightest indication of alarm.

Lina arrived at his shoulder, her arms crossed angrily and eyes narrowed beneath her visor. 'This had better be good, Milo, the analysis of Petra's code is almost complete and I-'

'Lorica's gone,' he said, stopping her mid-sentence.

Lina took a deep breath before raising a hand to her helmet in exasperation.

'Keelah, not again,' she sighed. 'Did she say where she was going? Or why?'

'No, not a word,' Milo replied with a shake of his head.

His voice held a distinct edge of pain and Lina took a deep breath, keeping any useless questions at bay. It was obvious Milo was worried about Lorica, that he was hurt that she would rather disappear entirely than confide in him and he was glad to see Lina got the message.

'Okay,' she said, 'I'll have to take control until she returns. I want a status report, as well as a list of all available assets. I'll also need Williams and Kavash to run interception protocols on all signals in and out of the area, in case the Legion should try to interfere. Keelah, of all the times to disappear…'

Milo reached out and placed a hand on her arm. 'Thank you, Lina. I know you don't need this right now and I promise I'll do what I can to find out what's wrong with her.'

Lina froze for a moment. The hand on her suit was warm and his gratitude was expressed through a soft squeeze against her skin. Frowning, she firmly but respectfully guided his hand from her arm and spoke as casually as she could.

'I'll be asking those questions myself when all this is over. You just stay focused on the task at hand and make sure those protocols are implemented. I know Kavash; that salarian's brain is always working overtime so make sure you tell him twice or he'll forget the first time around.'

Milo smiled as his section leader took a position in the midst of the team, issuing orders with a thoroughness that Lorica had lacked. It was to be expected. The quarian was an exceptionally gifted individual in many ways and to simply watch her work was motivation in itself.

Clearing his throat, he looked back to his own terminal. The sniper teams were in position, watching over Arlen as he entered Vastra's home. His screen was dominated by the thin, tangled blue lines of building schematics, with pulsing white dots in three locations to denote the sniper's locations.

'Time for a radio check,' he murmured to himself before navigating to a small icon at the edge of the monitor. 'Fareye Two, radio check, over?'

‘Fareye Two here, reading you loud and clear, over.’

‘Roger that, Fareye Two. Fareye One, how’re things at your end, over?’

Milo’s brow creased as several seconds passed with silence as his only response. 

'Fareye One, I repeat; radio check, over?'

Again, there was nothing. Milo licked his lips.

'Fareye One, do you copy?'

Something clicked at the other end of the line and Milo paled at the hiss of static that met his ears.

He knew that sound. It was the sound of a comm channel being physically cut, severed at its source.

He opened his mouth to shout the alarm.


	22. Chapter 22

'Drink?' Vastra offered, holding up a half-empty bottle of asari wine. The liquid inside was a deep purple and it sloshed gently in his unsteady grip. 'It's my last bottle, though something tells me I won't get another chance to partake.'

Arlen raised his hand. 'No thank you, just water.'

Vastra shrugged and picked his way across the room. Arlen glanced towards the kitchen, noting with distaste the stacks of garbage propped against piles of dirty utensils. The sink was filthy, and something dark and glistening had breached the top of it to jut out above the edge. Arlen wanted to believe Vastra was washing clothes in there but he could not be certain.

As Vastra approached the kitchen’s threshold, a small movement caught Arlen's eye. He suppressed a shudder as something small and black skittered along the work surfaces, disappearing beneath the refuse.

'On second thought, I'm really not that thirsty,' he said quickly, fighting back the urge to leap across the room and stop his host. 'Look, Vastra, I-'

'Cole,' Vastra interrupted as he pushed aside a rustling bag of debris with his foot. 'Call me Cole, Agent Kryik. No sense in standing on ceremony at this point.'

'Cole. Let me be clear. We know you're part of the Forgotten Legion, a terrorist organisation who claimed responsibility for the attack on the _SV Jamestown_ not four days ago. I've been tasked with locating and bringing in your leader, General Jardan Krassus. You can help yourself a great deal by leading me to him.'

Vastra grunted with something approaching contempt. 'Jardan. He'll be surrounded by hundreds of Legion soldiers, as well as his senior tribune, Avitus Varn. You won't get to him, Agent, not without an army.'

The fact should have been obvious but the blunt delivery made Arlen blink in astonishment. He had paid so little thought to the moment he would face Krassus himself, content instead to deal with each situation as it presented itself, that the words bit into him deeply. To hear the grim estimation of his chances was sobering, and he had to shake his head gently to clear the doubt from his mind.

'That's not something you need to worry about. All I want is the location; where is Krassus hiding?'

Vastra turned his head to look at him directly, and his drunken stupor lifted momentarily to reveal a mind that was far sharper than it appeared.

'That's a very direct question, Agent. I won't give everything away up front, not here, not until I'm safe from reprisal. Get me safely back to the Citadel and I'll tell you everything I know.'

'This isn't the time for games!' Arlen snapped angrily. 'I'm not asking here, Cole, and I am authorised to use any means necessary to get what I need.'

He hoped there were no outward signs of how much his gut wrenched at the thought. No doubt if Olansi were there the Spectre would be cutting out Vastra’s eyes to get what he needed.

Arlen covered his uncertainty by shaking his head, though the disbelief in his voice was very real. 'I can't believe you. Not only do you willingly attack innocent civilians but then you try to buy your way out of it? You're a...a disgrace to our people, to everything we stand for!'

Vastra flinched at his words, and his reply was meek as Arlen's voice receded, echoing against the walls of the small room.

'I know, son. I know.'

Arlen was startled to find himself breathing heavily, his fists clenched painfully at his sides. The nerve of the man to make any demands at all had enraged the young turian, the fury surprising him with its strength.

Still, Vastra's mournful tone brought the Interceptor to his senses. He looked about, seeing once again the filth that lined the living area, the empty liquor bottles and shabby, greasy clothing Vastra wore. He was not standing in the home of a proud man. The very air he breathed stank of shame, of defeat and regret.

Finally, he understood, and he exhaled deeply before speaking again, 'If you wanted to turn yourself in, why wait here? Why not surrender to the Citadel authorities? If you'd done so from the beginning then we could have had Krassus by now!'

Vastra walked across the room and stopped in front of the window. The dim light that filtered into the street began to seep into the apartment as the old man thumbed the shutter controls, striping his face with dull, grey bars.

'It must seem so simple to you,' he said, softly. 'You talk of honour but let's face it, son, you don't have a damn clue what honour is. Not yet anyway. Not until it's been tested to the limits. You can't possibly begin to understand what honour means when you're forced to depend on your brothers in arms no matter what they do, or what they plot. Ask yourself the question, Agent Kryik; when the only people you trust ask you to do something that goes against every fibre of your being, what do you do?'

'Don't play the victim, Cole,' Arlen snapped. 'You knew _exactly_ what you were doing when you hacked the Jamestown's navicomputer. You have _no_ right to expect sympathy or understanding for what you've done! I'd ask you why you did it but it's clear you're just a pawn, a servant of Krassus.'

Vastra sighed again, a deep release of hemmed-in sadness. His mottled skin grew tight with pain as he brought forth memories from the deepest recesses of his mind.

'After the Relay 314 Incident, we were sent in to occupy Shanxi. Jardan and I were in the same century. We bombed the colony's capital city from orbit and moved in to take the streets. The human garrison surrendered. It was easy work, if bloody and a little dull. The Navy boys got the glory for that particular battle.'

Arlen started forward to object before halting in his tracks. There was conflict in Vastra's features as old loyalties fought tooth and nail with his present disgrace and Arlen knew now it was no simple thing, for his suspect to seek protection in exchange for information. Even now, Vastra’s warm, ruby-hued skin folded and flexed as his eyes focused on past memories, wrestling with them.

Stepping back to lean against a nearby wall, Arlen crossed his arms as he listened.

'Then the humans counterattacked. We'd never seen anything like it. Damn, we thought we'd beaten the bulk of their military, then before you know it a spirit-damned fleet comes crashing through a nearby relay. They barely stopped to analyse the situation. They'd landed and begun conducting strikes against the capital before we even knew what hit us. Our centurion was killed in the first onslaught. That's when Jardan stepped up.'

Vastra’s eyes grew wider as those hellish times washed over them, each detail as clear as the day they happened.

'”Damned optio at his age”, that's all we ever said about him before that day, but we soon saw why he got the job. He rallied the century. He got us back on our feet. He made us _fight!_ '

His fingers had curled into a fist at the last, his gaze fixed on a distant scene, the events playing out in perfect clarity.

It was a different story to those told by his boot camp instructors, Arlen silently recalled. Those men spoke of tactics, of manoeuvres and bitter mistakes. Vastra, however, spoke purely of death and how close he had come to tasting it.

'I didn't realise the fighting was that bad,' Arlen murmured. 'I thought it was restricted to small skirmishes, with few pitched battles.'

'The Hierarchy likes to keep certain things quiet,' Vastra answered bitterly. 'The fact is we were nearly overrun in the streets of Shanxi. Our casualties mounted and yet whenever we tried to hit back, the humans weren't there. They were constantly on the move, always adapting and when they struck, they struck hard. Our chain of command was confounded by their speed. We weren't prepared and only Jardan kept us together on the ground.'

The reverence in his voice made Arlen's eyes narrow a fraction. The room fell silent as he waited for Vastra to continue, the slender strips of light on the older man’s skin growing brighter for a moment as the afternoon sun crept lower in the sky, angling its light into the streets.

'We all owed him our lives. After the incident, Jardan climbed the ladder until he commanded the Seventh Legion, gaining loyal followers. We fought together for many years, battle brothers one and all. Men who were due to retire stayed on for extended service, while many favours were called in at the legion drafting office as new recruits clamoured for a place in the Seventh's ranks. If we'd been around during the Krogan Rebellions, songs would've been written about us, I'm sure.'

He smiled then; a brief, insubstantial flicker of his lips.

'Then things began to change. We didn't think much of it at the time, but the signs were there. Jardan couldn't let the defeat at Shanxi go. He became obsessed with fighting the humans every step of the way. He lobbied the Hierarchy to cease trade agreements with them, used his connections to try and exert influence on the councillor, anything he could to stunt our relations with humanity.'

Though he was hardly a wealth of experience in the field, Arlen could not help but let a remark pass his lips, 'It's not a soldier's place to decide such a thing. Leave politics to the politicians.'

'I agree,' Vastra replied, nodding, 'but at the time, Jardan was a hero to many of us. Everything he said made sense and we cheered every speech he made in public, every interview he gave for the media. He was fighting for us, for our sacrifices back on Shanxi. Then the time came when we couldn't face the hypocrisy of the Hierarchy any longer.'

'The Seventh Exodus?' Arlen asked as his mind turned back to his briefing dossier. It felt like a lifetime since he’d read it.

'So the media called it. In truth, we were just a bunch of pissed off malcontents who still considered themselves soldiers, even without an army to call our own.'

Arlen stared at him thoughtfully. 'You don't seem very proud for a senior officer of the Legion. I'd have thought you'd be defending your ideals to the death, like Crixus Nantia.'

'Crixus,' Vastra muttered, 'always the loyal dog. You know his name. I take it you know what happened to him?'

Opening his mouth, Arlen stopped himself before he could spill out the details of his battle with the Legion assassin. The shame of how close to death he had come still flashed in his mind, no matter how the success of his mission to Omega quenched those flames.

He swallowed, and finally responded.

'He's dead. That's all I know.'

Vastra dipped his head. 'I see. Unimaginative he may have been, but as solid a man I've rarely seen in a fight. Loyalty is a fickle thing, Agent Kryik. It goes hand-in-hand with honour, affecting everyone in different ways. For Crixus, they were always black and white, inseparable and distinct. For others, such as myself, the matter was never so simple. Some of us just can't use those ideals as shields to excuse or block out the pain caused by everything we do. I suspect had Crixus been sent to Jump Zero instead of me, you would have found nothing more here than an empty apartment.'

'So why didn't I?' Arlen asked impatiently. 'Why _did_ you stay?'

Vastra did not answer immediately. He tilted the bottle of wine in his hand, mulling over his response and did not seem to notice as a thin dribble of the expensive liquid escaped the neck.

With an uneasy, jerking motion, he threw back his head, guzzling several mouthfuls of the wine with noisy slurps. After he’d had his fill, he simply let the bottle fall from his hands and it clinked loudly as it knocked against the many others littering the ground.

'Would it sound crazy to say that I was letting fortune dictate my fate?'

'What?' Arlen asked, squinting in confusion. 'What are you talking about, Cole?'

It was a simple question but Vastra pored over it as he swayed on his feet, his features contorting as his mind worked to put his odd mood into words.

'My loyalty, my honour,' he rasped, 'I'd already given them up when I renounced my oaths to the Hierarchy. As was the case with many of us, I paid my price for that action. Although our resignation was lawful, the circumstances, the disgrace was too much for our families to bear. My wife revoked her vows to me and took my son and daughter away. The Legion has been the only family I've had ever since.' He lifted up his chin, again, staring into some distant past. 'I've done…horrible things, Agent. Terrible things. All because I was still clinging to the last measly scraps of honour I had left.'

Vastra’s eyes wandered the apartment. It was still dark, dingy and cluttered, and the thin light that pervaded the window seemed to edge everything with a searing glow that burned into his vision. He brought a hand to his face and with obvious surprise, realised that tears were pooling in glistening beads at the corner of his eyes.

He let out a single, bitter chuckle at the irony. 'But those things, those loyalties, aren't so easily cast aside,' he went on, 'no matter how much you want to stop. A part of me wanted to march straight to the Council themselves, prostrate myself at their feet and beg for mercy but as you know yourself, that simply isn't the turian way.' He snorted derisively. 'The turian way. Discipline and obedience ‘till death. Or worse.'

'So your loyalty to the Legion is what kept you here?' Arlen asked as he struggled to understand. 'But it wasn't enough to send you back to them?'

'When in doubt,' Vastra replied with a mirthless grin, 'trust it to luck. I've shamed the spirits of my people by taking the lives of those humans, Agent. Not only that but in my weakness I've betrayed everyone I've vowed to follow. I'm not fit to make another decision. I knew that by waiting here, the choice would be taken out of my hands. Either you would find me and take me in, or my brothers would get to me first and kill me.'

'They wouldn't just take you back?'

Again, Vastra smiled, the gesture soulless and without feeling. 'I've already disobeyed the strictest of orders. In my current state, I think they would assume the worst and have me killed on the spot just to set an example, especially if Varn has anything to say about it.'

'You mentioned Varn before,' Arlen remarked. He shuffled forward away from the wall, both to relieve his position as well as out of genuine curiosity. Despite Vastra's condition, Arlen hung on his every word and any scrap of information he could gather on the Legion would be invaluable.

Vastra nodded slowly. 'Avitus Varn. Senior tribune of the Legion and Krassus' right-hand man. A peerless warrior, though I’ve seen more personality in a ship’s bulkhead. He's been in service to the general since the Exodus itself, one of the founding four along with myself, Jardan and one other.'

'Who?'

The apartment seemed much more still and empty as Vastra gave the matter some consideration, clearly weighing up the name's value against his odds. After a few seconds he shrugged indifferently.

'I guess it wouldn't hurt to say, seeing as how he's not with us anymore. At least, not in any direct sense. He works for Synthetic Insights; in fact, he was instrumental in the development of the virus we used in the attack on the Jamestown itself.'

Arlen's eyes widened. He recalled Bithcon Dynamics had been affiliated with Synthetic Insights while operational, and the young agent's heart leapt at the sign of a new, tangible lead.

'The name?' he pressed.

Vastra's lips parted to reveal stained, pointed teeth.

'Qi'in. Lorik Qi'in.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'What do you mean "they're not responding"?' Anaya asked furiously.

The sergeant before her stammered a reply, the sheer panic of the situation grasping the words from her lips before the sound could form.

'M-ma'am, we've tried hailing JSTF five times now, as well as all three sniper teams but we can't get a single word out of them, even on backup channels. Every signal is dead!'

'What about visual confirmation?' Anaya argued. 'Those snipers can't have all just vanished into thin air!'

The captain screwed her eyes shut, grimacing as her mind worked to make sense of the chaos. Her skin was rendered a dark violet by the deepening shade of the surrounding buildings and it flushed further as she looked at the sergeant again to bark out a curt order.

Around her the thin smattering of police officers glanced around with increasing rapidity, their own concern echoing her rising trepidation.

'T'Nais, just get your ass up there and find out what's happened to Fareye One. If there's any sign of trouble, any at all, radio in right away. Understood?'

The sergeant nodded and immediately made her way into the thicket of officers, her footsteps disappearing into the clamour of the streets.

Anaya lowered her eyes to where she had set a datapad on the hood of a parked police shuttle. Nothing made sense. Messages were flooding in by the second as reports were made, both automated and by team personnel, each one seemingly more important than the last.

Others, however, had also made it into her inbox. Civilian mails, personal messages, information requests; it was as if everything that passed through the extranet was flowing directly into her account. The information was quickly accumulating, merging with the surrounding confusion and congealing into a suffocating mass that threatened to overwhelm her.

The sound of armoured feet on stone brought Anaya's head up sharply, and she frowned as Keller approached. The detective's hair was tied back into a ponytail and her expression was grim against her C-Sec armour of blue and black.

'We've lost contact with JSTF,' Keller began. Her calm, yet firm manner grated on Anaya's nerves and the asari scowled mildly as she went on. 'Zero activity from Fareye One, Two and Three. The task force's own subroutines have been handling local interference scans and they flagged up a jamming attempt just before all our systems went haywire. JSTF reported your snipers had gone dark a few minutes before that, however. That means their connections were severed locally. We saw something like this when the Legion hit the Citadel; a diversion covering an electronic warfare attack and I wouldn't bet against them doing it again now. I don't know what's happened to all our equipment, but I do know something bad has happened to your team up there, Captain. Your sergeant will need backup.'

Anaya took a deep breath. She glared at Keller, her eyes shimmering as she visibly tried to keep a civil tongue.

'Look, Detective, with respect, I think it's time for you to stand aside. I could handle JSTF calling the shots when your man was apprehending a suspect but things are getting way out of hand. In only minutes I've had six good officers go dark, we've lost all contact with your superiors and our internal networks are being flooded with civilian comm traffic. I'm handling this now, before the situation goes completely to shit.'

Keller met her gaze squarely. 'I understand you're worried, Anaya, but simply ignoring my advice will only endanger your people even further. I'm in no position to make demands, I know that. I can see you're concerned with the welfare of your officers and without JSTF around I don't have much authority here but please, just trust me on this. Don't send your sergeant up there alone.'

'I can't _afford_ to send anyone else!' Anaya hissed through clenched teeth. 'Your Goddess-damned task force was quick enough to tell me what I couldn't do but they sure as hell weren't forthcoming with reinforcements! Something crazy is going on here, Detective, and I can't have half my assault team climbing up a damn skyscraper while we figure out what it is!'

The two women faced each other, neither willing to give ground. Some of the nearby officers began to glance curiously in their direction, wondering what the argument could be about. Irritated by their stares, Anaya's eyes snapped over to the milling group, who immediately busied themselves under her harsh scrutiny.

'All right,' she said before returning her attention to Keller, 'if you're so sure it's dangerous, then I want you to check it out.'

Keller frowned. 'But I'm supposed to be leading the assault team. If anything happens to Arlen then-'

'Then we'll handle it,' Anaya interrupted firmly. 'Besides, we've still got the main entrance covered. Nothing's getting in there without going through us first and I've already sent a runner back to the precinct for backup. In less than fifteen minutes we'll have another four squads of tactical response officers on the scene and we can finally restore order.'

'Ma'am?' a high voice cried out and Anaya paused at the sight of an officer bounding breathlessly up to them.

She looked much younger than most of the other asari in the group, with smooth teal skin and large eyes that looked nervous as she bowed to them respectfully.

Anaya lost some of her livid energy at the sight and she lowered her voice to speak to the newcomer, 'Riona, what is it? I'm busy.'

'Sorry, Captain,' the maiden replied, taking in deep breaths. 'Sergeant Athiea reports the communication disruption is persistent across the entire sector. Our sensors are blind and there are reports that the extranet is out, omni-tools are also affected, even shuttle VIs are shutting down. People are getting scared and starting to flood into the streets.'

Anaya clasped a hand to her forehead, worrying at her temples and Keller stepped forward.

'We're being isolated, Anaya,' she said pleadingly as she drew close to the captain. 'Whoever's doing this is trying to use the confusion to get the upper hand. We need to get a handle on this right now, starting with those sniper teams.'

Anaya looked at Keller despairingly for a moment before inhaling a draught of cool air. After a time, she straightened and nodded.

'You're right, Detective, but my point still stands. If Riona's right and the public are starting to panic then I'll need people on hand to help protect civilians. I need you to help my officers clear the surrounding buildings.'

Keller began to object but Anaya held up a hand immediately, interrupting her. 'I know you're concerned about your friend but as you said, we need to keep our heads and work together if we're going to get through this mess. All right?'

Keller swallowed her objections and bowing her head reluctantly, she agreed.

'Okay. I'll try and catch up to your sergeant. I'll also need one other, just in case.'

Anaya turned towards Riona, who fumbled anxiously under their combined stares. 'Riona, go with Detective Keller, follow her orders. Be careful.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Riona said dutifully and pulled off a shaky salute.

As the detective and her new charge walked away, Anaya called out, 'Hey, Keller!'

Keller looked over her shoulder and saw Anaya's worried expression. She paused in her stride, wondering what was so urgent.

The captain faltered momentarily, her lips parted slightly. 'Take care of Riona, okay?'

Keller bobbed her head, curious as to the request, as well as the odd look in Anaya's eyes. She turned her back on the hectic scene and strode towards her destination; a large, wide set of doors that marked the entrance to one of the biggest buildings she had ever seen.

The walls were dark in the approaching gloom of evening, curving around in a vast arch and the entire structure seemed to bend over Keller as she craned her neck to see the top. It was a cold, sheer spike against the clear blue sky and somewhere within she knew she would find danger.

'Riona?' she asked aloud without taking her eyes from the building's peak.

The young asari beside her started at the mention of her name and Keller was hit by a sudden twinge of nostalgia. Riona was obviously a new recruit and bore all the hallmarks of their awkward naivety. It was only a few days ago that Arlen had been the same way.

'Yes, ma'am?' Riona responded.

'Do you have the sniper team's precise location?'

Riona hesitated and brought up her omni-tool. The device flickered and warped as the strange interference that had crippled them all took hold. After only a few seconds she shut it off, biting her lip in worry.

'I believe they're occupying apartment thirty-three seventeen,' she answered, frowning in surprise as Keller cursed loudly.

'That's a long way up. We need to hurry.'

The hard slap of boots on concrete echoed above the noise of the streets, carrying high into the air as in the distance, the wail of sirens added their voice to the growing crescendo. They did not see or hear the heavy trucks moving in on each end of the street.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob could sense the panic in the crowds long before they reached their objective. The sirens alone had prompted his eyes to dart about as he walked, searching his surroundings for the source while also trying to avoid the flood of citizens that were being urged away from the area. 

They swelled around the two soldiers, paying no attention to them in their filthy, loose clothing or the large packs slung over their shoulders.

Jacob strode purposefully beside Winterbourne, the lieutenant's face twisted into a picture of anxiety that mirrored his own. They were barely a block away from Vastra and yet it was as if the entire city was straining to bar their path.

'Try again,' he said and Winterbourne raised a hand to her ear for a moment before shaking her head. 'Damn, this is not good.'

Jacob said nothing. Their radios had gone silent only minutes before, filling their ears with a momentary flash of white noise before dying completely. Not only that, but their omni-tools simply juddered and sparked when they tried to activate them. Neither he nor the more experienced Winterbourne had seen anything like it and they eyed one another hesitantly.

'We need to stick to the plan,' Jacob said, his mouth dry. 'The major and the others could be in position right now for all we know.'

The waning sunlight laid a glowing strip across Winterbourne's closely-cropped hair as she nodded her agreement. The plan remained unchanged. They had all agreed to split into pairs and approach the target street from different directions to avoid drawing suspicion but now Jacob feared that very plan would work against them. Nothing stood out more in a crisis than people working to force their way further into it.

His feet tapped on the busy walkway, which trembled lightly as hundreds of other footfalls drummed on it in tandem.

The mood of the people could be felt in the terse shouts that occasionally sprang from beyond the sea of bobbing heads. Nearby a child cried out for its mother, the sound quickly absorbed in the sheer press of people.

At Jacob's shoulder, the vast, sweeping skyline of Nos Astra was suddenly swallowed by a cluster of tall buildings, between which the crowds pushed and clamoured like swarms of insects. The sun's warmth too disappeared, leaving Jacob's skin cold and lined with fine bumps.

'Getting close,' he muttered and he hefted the heavy pack on his shoulder to relieve the weight of the shotgun within.

Suddenly, he scraped to a halt, stretching out his hand to stop Winterbourne in her tracks. Ahead, they could see the comparatively small, stubby apartment block that marked their destination.

Vastra was inside, Jacob knew, and with a mounting sense of horror he saw the unmistakable uniforms of Nos Astra's police force in a loose mob throughout the street.

The asari were gesturing wildly to the surrounding civilians, and as Jacob eased his hand away from Winterbourne he watched as a blonde human woman detached herself from the group with a young companion before disappearing into a neighbouring building.

'Two dozen police officers, a damn panic on the streets, all happening right outside the building we need to get into,' he said sourly. 'I thought we were supposed to be the only ones who knew about Vastra.'

'It might just be a coincidence,' Winterbourne proffered feebly.

'Whatever it is, we can't get to him this way,' Jacob replied, his eyes still focused on their obstacle. 'We need a diversion.'

As if in response, the groaning engines of a large goods vehicle hummed overhead and a shadow passed over the humans as a truck was brought into a hover above the end of the street.

Jacob's eye grew wide as he realised its intentions.

'Shit!' he cried out, taking Winterbourne's arm in a firm grip. 'Come on, they're going to block the street!'

They dashed ahead, throwing aside all caution as the truck began to lower itself to the ground. It was a bulky, stocky vehicle with a large, ridged blue container affixed to its rear.

Jacob flashed a glance at its underside and he crouched instinctively as he passed beneath it. The mass of tangled metal and conduits was alarmingly close to his head and he grunted as he thrust himself to the ground in a tumbling roll.

He turned back, his mouth falling open as the truck came down with a thunderous pound. He saw Winterbourne try to move but he could not see if she made it out of the way.

'No!' he yelled out. His hands traced and slammed against the lines of the truck's container, searching in vain for some way back around.

A scream sliced through the air and the Jacob's head whipped back over his shoulder. Another truck had sealed the other end of the road and with a resounding crash, the container at its back opened. From its belly, dark figures spilled out onto the street and the distinctive crackle of gunfire followed.

'What the hell is going on?' Jacob murmured under his breath in utter astonishment, staring out aghast at the unfolding spectacle.

Though he did not hold himself to the God that he knew Miller worshipped, he sent a silent prayer to Him regardless. He prayed Dukov and the others had also found a way into the perimeter before it was too late.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Keller's ears twitched as a strange clattering sound echoed against the inner walls of the elevator. Had it always been there? She couldn't tell, and there was no way of contacting Anaya to find out.

Riona did not speak, though she shot her a look of concern.

Keller managed a weak smile. It was of little reassurance to either of them.

The building they were scaling was more of what Keller had expected from the asari. The graceful décor of the lobby was a far cry from the functional, almost mechanical efficiency of the Citadel, though it seemed wasted with no one around to see it. The building was deserted, with everyone likely huddled in their homes, waiting for the police to leave.

Keller's mouth firmed as she wondered how far the officer Anaya had sent out ahead of them, Sergeant T'Nais, had gotten. The deepest part of her longed to see T’Nais unharmed, standing and laughing quietly with the sniper team as they joked about the technical hiccup they had encountered.

It was wishful thinking. The sudden onset of the blackout had raised the oldest instincts within the detective, the hunch that reared its head whenever something felt distinctly awry. It was a talent that had gotten her further in her undercover work than she cared to admit.

A small bell rang out and the elevator halted with a violent shake. The doors slid open to reveal a long, straight corridor with a large window at the end, spilling hazy grey light across the walls. Dozens of doors lined the hall, each numbered in sequence as small haptic panels glowed at their sides. Most were red; locked and secure.

'I'll go first,' Keller whispered to Riona, who nodded her consent.

They shifted into a loose column, pistols drawn and held down, ready to snap up and fire in a heartbeat. The odd rattling noise Keller had heard in the elevator came back to them, though it was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

The doors passed them in a blur. Keller looked for only one and she ignored the rest, the grip on her Striker tightening until her palms ached. Her breathing began to increase and she tried to force calm into her actions.

 _This is no different than a Citadel bust_ , she told herself, over and over. It was no different.

'Take position, other side of the door,' she said as they approached one with the numbers _33-17_ displayed in bright letters above the controls.

Keller and Riona slid into place and the detective raised her fist to pound on the door.

For a moment she paused, unsure as to whether or not she should simply breach it.

 _No,_ she told herself. However slim, there was a chance the snipers were still in there, and with the current confusion any hostile entry could result in a disastrous friendly fire incident.

Summoning her courage, Keller took a deep breath and prepared to shout a warning against the pale barrier in front of her.

Suddenly, Riona's hand shot out, snatching her arm.

'Detective, listen!' she hissed.

Keller lowered her hand and pressed her head against the door. She strained every sense she could and, surely enough, the muffled sound of voices resonated from within the apartment.

Immediately the detective furrowed her brow. The voices were male.

'Not asari,' she said, voicing her thoughts. 'All right, it sounds like they're distracted. Let's try and take them alive if we can. Challenge first, shoot second, okay?'

'Okay,' Riona whispered back.

The door panel denied them access, its stark crimson light warning them off hatefully. Keller's features twisted in irritation as she remembered the state of their omni-tools; hacking the lock was not an option. After a moment’s thought, she reached up to take something out of her hair.

It was a small silver pin, and it caught a brief sliver of sunlight as the detective lowered it to the haptic panel.

Riona watched in amazement as Keller use the pin to twist apart the panel’s casing, revealing a nest of cabling and circuitry. With quick, defined movements she used her makeshift tool to dislodge several wires and with a small spark, the panel display fizzled and flickered green.

Keller waved her hand rapidly to dispel the momentary, burning sting on her fingers.

'One of the first things you learn when going undercover is how to get in and out of places without your omni-tool,' she said to Riona on seeing the officer’s astounded expression.

Riona swallowed hard and tried to smile, though the most she could do was grip her pistol even tighter than before. Keller sensed her fear and placed a hand on her shoulder.

'Just follow my lead, okay?'

'Okay,' the asari replied and Keller placed her free hand against a small indentation at the edge of the door. It was common practice to include an emergency handle in case of power loss and without the lock it slid easily to the side with a soft rasp.

The voices within the apartment were clearly audible now. They were indeed those of men, deep and throaty with the slightly garbled quality of helmet amplifiers.

After a moment's thought, Keller thumbed a button on her Striker and the weapon grew warm in her hands as tungsten rounds were loaded into the firing chamber. It was an expensive modification but usually standard for C-Sec weapons, and if their opponents too were armoured the extra punch would be needed.

The door opened into a small dark hall, into which light flooded from the living area beyond. Keller and Riona stepped lightly and cautiously, wary of every sound around them.

The place was immaculately clean, Keller noted gratefully, so at least they didn't need to watch their step too carefully. From somewhere ahead, the voices grew in volume and she tensed as a sharp laugh broke the murmur.

Keller picked up the gentle scrape of Riona's feet as she stopped suddenly, and the detective threw her a questioning glance. The young officer was not looking at her, however, and Keller followed her gaze to the right, down a short side passage. It was gloomy and narrow but it did not take long to notice the dark, limp form at the end.

Keller close her eyes gently at the sight of Sergeant T'Nais, her body propped against the wall with blood oozing slowly from a glistening wound in her chest. Her eyes were open and lifeless, her lips parted to allow a thin, purple river to flow down her chin and patter on the polished floor below.

Keller grimaced and looked back at Riona. It was clearly the first time the girl had seen a dead body. Her skin had paled and she shook gently, unable to tear her eyes from T'Nais. Keller laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and the contact seemed to take the edge off her fear.

Gradually, she turned back to Keller and gave a quick nod, her eyes still glimmering with grief.

Her resolve stiffening, Keller resumed her progress. Again, a barking laugh cut through the air, echoing through the apartment. It was joined by something else, and Keller realised it was the same odd crackling she had heard back in the elevator.

It was louder now, and accompanied by the moan of the wind. Frowning, she picked up the pace and it was not long before she halted next to an open doorway. With infinite care, she dipped her head forward to take a peek.

There were three of them, each staring and pointing out of the open bedroom window. Laid on the nearby bed were the still bodies of the two snipers of Fareye One. Each had been dispatched with slashes to the throat; their beautiful, smooth asari skin marred by a jagged stripe rent across their necks.

Keller took a deep breath, willing herself to remain collected and took a closer look at the perpetrators. Their armoured suits were of Aldrin Labs design; the famous Onyx series. The functional, grey plating was inelegant but it did its job well enough for a low price, she recalled.

In their hands were Lancer assault rifles. Again, inexpensive, human-made and they served their purpose. Keller ground her teeth in bitter confusion. Of all the people she expected to interfere with their operation, she had not expected humans to be among them.

One of them spoke. 'Target acquired.'

'Roger,' another replied before bending over to pick something up from behind the bed. With a grunt, the man lifted up a large box and set it next to the snipers, the heavy weight causing the bodies to slide loosely towards it as it pressed into the mattress.

Keller struggled to conceal a gasp as the man produced a bulky weapon from the box, one she immediately recognised as an ML-77 missile launcher.

'Just aim for the window, the blast should be enough to take out anything in the room. You can't miss,' the first man said.

Keller's heart pounded, sending waves of blood crashing against her ears.

Arlen was in that room.

'Freeze!' she yelled out manically, her pistol stretched out before her eyes.

Riona followed suit but it was too late, and Keller watched with a sense of sickening vertigo as the missile launcher beeped, releasing its payload in a roaring surge of white vapour.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Who is this Lorik Qi'in?' asked Arlen. 

Vastra shrugged. 'What's to say? He was the senior tribune of the Seventh, Krassus' second in command before the Forgotten Legion was officially formed and Varn took over. He was one of the architects of the Exodus itself, I guess some would say the most important one after Jardan. He was a brilliant officer; smart, rational and charismatic. I might've had a good handle on logistics as the legion prefect but Qi'in had a way with the enlisted ranks, a manner with them neither I nor Varn could hope to match. If it wasn't for him, Jardan's little rebellion would've been a somewhat anticlimactic exodus of four.'

'So why isn't he with you now? Why isn't he by the general's side with the rest of his men?'

'That's a complex question,' Vastra replied with a slight grin. 'At the time of the Exodus he was a pivotal part of our organisation. He always had a plan grander than the petty, spiteful acts of violence Varn insisted upon, though. Shortly after we resigned from the Seventh, he found employment within Synthetic Insights and worked to siphon advanced technology to us from the inside, through a shell company he established with funds we raised back on Palaven.'

'Bithcon Dynamics…' Arlen muttered.

'Indeed,' Vastra nodded. 'He was careful and cagey, only moving money and equipment when no eyes were upon him. No one suspected a thing. Then, a little over two years ago, SI assigned him to Noveria and things really took off for us. He managed teams of scientists working on some of the most cutting-edge research in the galaxy. Coupled with an important…' The old turian stopped to consider his next words and Arlen raised his brows at the pause. '…an important alliance, if you will, the Legion was in its strongest position yet. With the tech Qi'in provided, Jardan, Varn and myself began to make plans for an attack on humanity. You…know the rest.'

Arlen looked away, his head spinning with the revelations. That filthy apartment seemed all the more confining now as the pressure of his position weighed on his shoulders.

This was it, the lead he had been searching for and for the first time since he had entered Citadel Tower with Garrus four days ago, things were beginning to make some kind of sense.

He turned back to Vastra, his confidence surging. 'Is Qi'in still with Synthetic Insights now? Is he still on Noveria?'

'I have no idea,' answered Vastra as he slowly shook his head. 'We lost contact with him a year ago, just after he sent us a parting gift. We deemed it too big a risk to go after him, at least until our attack had been carried out, and nothing bad seemed to come of his departure. In fact, his team had just finished work on a prototype weapon; a computer virus unlike anything else in the galaxy. After handing such a thing over to us, I suppose we thought he wouldn't betray us.'

'The Jamestown Virus, that's what they call it now,' said Arlen. 'I came across a mutated VI back in Bithcon's main lab on Omega, apparently a result of that same virus.'

Vastra chuckled humourlessly, the sound clicking in his dry throat.

'Incredible, isn't it? A synthetic construct able to think, feel and act like an organic being even on the most rudimentary levels. Its use against a passenger ship was only a crude demonstration of its potential, without even the most basic use of its primary functions. The Jamestown attack relied on external factors, too many to count. As I'm sure you know by now, that's only half the virus' true purpose.'

Arlen frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'You're kidding me, right?' Vastra asked as he let out a sudden, hearty laugh, his chest rising and falling unevenly before slowing once again.

Gradually, his smile faded and his intoxication seemed to lift in an instant, replaced with numb disbelief. 'Wait, you're not joking. You…don't know about the Fusion Directives, do you?'

'What directives?' Arlen repeated, his features blank.

Vastra continued to stare at him in amazement as he stood on the verge of laughing again, as if he expected Arlen to reveal his ignorance as some humorous ploy. When the moment didn't arrive, Vastra's features sunk further into a look of horror that chilled Arlen's blood.

'By the spirits,' he whispered huskily, 'you have no idea what you're dealing with, do you? You have absolutely no idea!'

'Hold on,' Arlen said, holding up his hands in protest, 'just calm down. Explain to me, what are these Fusion Directives you're talking about?'

Vastra did not seem to hear him. The old turian paced about the apartment, his head weaving from side to side as his shock mounted.

'I suppose it's too soon to have uncovered them through analysis but damn, there must've been signs! How can you people be so blind?'

Arlen's mouth wavered. In just an instant he had found himself back in that same, powerless position of moments ago, when the raging maelstrom of events threatened to crush him completely. His thoughts whirled, unable to settle and only a thin, high voice brought his senses crashing back into the present.

'Arlen!' Petra cried out, her voice projected from a small extranet terminal across the room. 'Arlen, please help! I can't think! The voices!'

Blinking sharply, he bounded across the room in only a few steps, raising his omni-tool to the terminal and connecting with a soft chime. Petra moaned in what seemed like pain as the transfer was made and Arlen found himself deeply disturbed by the sound.

'Are you okay?' he asked desperately. 'Petra, answer me! Are you all right?'

The voice that responded from his omni-tool was stricken and wracked with terror.

'It was…horrible. I was listening, watching for you. Then a voice started talking to me. It…filled my head with noise, with terrible, screaming noise.' Petra sobbed, a sound that gripped Arlen's heart with shocking force. 'I couldn't think! It wanted me to do what it said but I said no. It screamed at me over and over! '

Arlen shushed her soothingly, ignoring Vastra's baffled expression. 'It’s okay, Petra, it's okay. You're safe now, right?'

'Yes,' she replied shakily, 'the walls I built here, on your omni-tool are strong. I can't hear the voice any more but still whispers. I should be safe though, whispers will go away in time.'

'Okay, you've done enough for now,' he murmured before fixing his gaze on Vastra once more. 'Get ready to move, Cole. You're coming with me.'

Vastra did not shift. Instead he glared at Arlen's omni-tool, his face contorting with suspicion and rage.

'You're carrying the damn thing around with you! Are you insane? Do you have any damn idea what you're doing?'

Perhaps he was crazy, Arlen surmised, but at least he had purpose. He paid no attention to the old man, choosing instead to hammer his suit's radio button. The device clicked emptily and Arlen's voice cracked with stress as he tried to get a response.

'Detective Keller? Detective, can you hear me? Lina? Captain Anaya? Anybody?'

'It's no use,' Petra mumbled despondently from his arm. 'The voice laughed and told me nobody can hear each other. It has control for now. It knows it will die soon but it laughs anyway, while it can.'

Both turians froze as they digested Petra's words.

Vastra's puzzled frown only deepened as Arlen nodded. He looked at Vastra, his eyes hard.

'Something's very wrong here. I don't know what it is but I do know we need to link up with Detective Keller and the others.'

'I know exactly who it is,' Vastra said. His lips quivered and his pupils were small, flitting holes that shivered with terror. 'He's come for us. The son of a bitch has shown himself at last.'

Arlen stepped forward to coax Vastra into action. He was stopped, however, by something beyond him.

The window flared brilliantly for just a moment, and something dark flitted across the shutter.

Arlen opened his mouth to cry out.

'Get away fr-!'

His voice was swallowed by a colossal bang as the missile hit. A great well of burning heat threw him back against the far wall and he crumpled helplessly to the ground. He didn't see the window disappear in a flash of black dust and smoke, or hear the delicate clinking of falling glass and debris as the explosion faded.

Arlen's senses were numb. He knew he could taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips but his eyes wouldn't open.

'V-Vastra?' he choked, unsure if his voice was even working.

There was no answer, and Arlen felt himself slip into cold darkness.


	23. Chapter 23

'Sorenson, get those damned updates to my desk, _now!_ ' Lina yelled out over the heads of her team. 'It's been nearly seven minutes since we lost contact with Illium and I want the situation rectified on the double!'

The human in question redoubled his efforts, his hands a blur as he manipulated his terminal with frantic energy.

'We're working as fast as we can,' a turian objected from his desk to Lina's right and she rounded on him instantly.

'We have an agent out there alone, Fravas, alone and without support,' she pointed out sternly. ‘However hard you _think_ you’re working, we need more if we’re going to bring that agent back alive!’

Fravas seemed to shrink into his chair at the words and he dared not interrupt Lina again.

'First we lose contact with Anaya's snipers,’ she continued, ‘then our line to Detective Keller goes dead. Our people's very lives might be on the line out there so don't you _dare_ complain to me!'

Fravas nodded quickly and returned to his screen, the various displays shifting at an even greater rate than before.

Lina felt her suit tighten against her chest as it swelled with each breath.

Milo had done well to raise the alarm when he did. If he'd delayed the radio check a minute longer they would have assumed the snipers' lack of response was part of the overall communication blackout that occurred minutes later. It was a small thing, perhaps, but invaluable nonetheless. It had given her the cue to increase the signal encryption strength through the comm buoys, sneaking in a particularly useful subroutine along with it.

'How's the analysis from the interception protocol coming, Milo?' she asked as she jogged over to his desk, leaning across it to look at his monitor.

'You're just in time,' he said, turning his eyes to his terminal, where a series of numbers, letter and symbols tumbled into place. 'Just before everything went dark our local sensors picked up an information surge coming from an extranet terminal in the area. Thanks to that little protocol you snuck in there at the last minute, we managed to get a snapshot of the information that was uploaded, the upload that caused this mess.' He motioned briefly towards the jumble of data on the screen. 'Recognise any of this?'

Beneath her helmet, Lina's lips curled into a broad smile. To anyone else, the data would seem like a random mess, with no discerning features whatsoever. The quarian, however, knew better. She had spent almost every hour of the past four days staring at these symbols.

'The Jamestown Virus,' she murmured before looking down at Milo. 'Good work, this may help us a great deal.'

'How?' he asked curiously. 'Doesn't this just prove the Legion are behind the attack?'

'Not necessarily,' Lina replied as her mind travelled back to her conversations with Petra. 'This code indicates the virus has been used in its foetal state, as it were. It will wreak havoc like it did on the Citadel but it's still only temporary and it won't be long until Illium police have isolated and destroyed it. We don't know why the Legion has chosen to waste it in this way or if they are even the only ones with access to it. All we know for certain is that the Jamestown Virus has been unleashed on Nos Astra; the perfect cover, the perfect temporary distraction. It can't be coincidence that all this coincides with Vastra's arrest.'

'Okay,' Milo responded with a nod. His eyes flickered across his desk as he industriously gathered together datapads and OSDs, stacking them in an order Lina could not comprehend.

He sensed her questioning stare and smiled at her again. 'These are the countermeasures Network sent over this morning. I was thinking we could give them a try, maybe pass a high-priority transmission through the comm buoys and piggyback the signal, deliver them right back to where the virus was uploaded. You never know, they might just work.'

'Good thinking, get on it right away,' Lina responded and clapped a hand on his shoulder enthusiastically.

Almost immediately, she withdrew the gesture and her arm snapped back to her side. Her pale eyes flickered nervously from side to side beneath her visor and Milo chuckled teasingly at the uncharacteristic familiarity.

'Careful now, Lina. You don't want people to think you're going soft on your staff.'

The quarian stiffened and the stammer that came from her lips appalled her, 'J-just get on that right away and let me know what happens. Again, good job.'

She paid no attention to Milo's smug expression as she walked away from his desk.

 _The way his lips curl knowingly like that is so infuriating,_ she thought to herself. _It’s as if he thinks he knows exactly what’s going on in my head._

Were all humans like that? Milo might have been an excellent worker but that was no excuse for-

Lina’s step faltered for a moment as she realised she had more important things to worry about. She strained to focus on her work yet that smile of his kept returning to push everything else out of her mind.

Sighing in frustration, Lina mumbled a curse to the eldest of her ancestors before something else caught her gaze.

Ambling down the command centre's main concourse, Lorica kept her head bowed sullenly. Everything else seemed to fall away from Lina, replaced by a driving need to confront her.

Lina ignored the inquisitive glances of the team as she stormed forward, her three-toed feet pounding against the ground as she went.

Lorica saw Lina approach, and as she neared the asari straightened defensively. Her mouth opened but Lina would not give her the chance to speak.

'Don’t you even _dare!_ ' the quarian hissed. Her mouth-lamp burned with each syllable and her eyes were two white slits that bored into Lorica with horrific force. 'I've warned you already about disappearing from your station and just as we are on the verge of a real breakthrough with this investigation, you up and leave once again!'

Lorica's skin grew ashen as Lina's fury washed over her. 'I-'

'Not only that,' Lina said, cutting her off savagely, 'but while you were gone we just so happened to suffer an attack from the very virus we're trying to stop! You had nothing in place to deal with it, Lorica, no systems, no precautions; you almost left us completely vulnerable while you sauntered off, lost in your own little world!'

She expected a customarily sour rebuke, but when Lorica tried to answer her lips only quivered in response. Her skin, usually a perfect blue to match the Presidium's sky, was sallow and ghostly as the blood drained from her face.

'I-I'm sorry, I won't let it happen again,' she spluttered. Her eyes were large and wet, on the brink of shedding stricken tears and only the sight of them brought Lina back from the edge of her anger.

There was something there, she saw. It could have been guilt but that should have been obvious enough. It was something else, and that very strange presence made Lina sigh suddenly, shaking her head as she placed a hand on the forehead of her helmet.

'Get over to Milo. You can help him out,' she said in a low, discreet tone. 'I'll decide if Chellick needs to know about your behaviour when this whole thing is over.'

The mention of their commander sent an obvious spike of fear through Lorica, and she mumbled another apology as she shuffled over to Milo's desk. Lina watched as he gave her his own, less harsh reprimand, laying his hand over her own.

The sight made Lina's stomach clench for some reason and she frowned, uncomfortable with the sensation.

She looked to her right, over her shoulder towards Chellick's office. He had disappeared up there with Garrus shortly before the crisis began and she considered paying him a visit. Telling him of Lorica's timely absence would only be the right thing to do.

As the thought occurred to her the odd look in Lorica's eyes came back, flooding Lina’s mind with images of concealed pain. Reluctantly, she decided against involving Chellick and glanced back at Milo. Perhaps the human would be able to draw an answer from their troubled colleague.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'You're certain no one saw you?' Chellick asked.

He glared at Garrus with ill-concealed suspicion and the agent only shrugged.

'If they had, I don't think Udina would've come alone,' he answered. 'You know as well as I do that C-Sec isn't subtle. If there was any hint of foul play, Pallin would've come down on this place harder than a charging krogan.'

Garrus looked at Chellick, his left eye hidden beneath the glow of his combat visor. He spoke calmly, as if discussing something no more important than the traffic.

'As far as I'Layna Naris goes, you were the one who chose to cover it up, Chellick. My involvement is only as safe as you make it.'

Chellick rose from his seat to pace around the office. He had left Garrus standing before his desk out of spiteful anger but now he found he couldn't relax either.

The asari councillor's involvement in matters ate away at him steadily, consuming his thoughts with a steady, pulsing anxiety. He had hidden it well enough in Udina's presence but now he was alone with Garrus he let it run amok, flowing through his veins as his mandibles twitched and jerked with fury.

'She knows something,' he snapped. 'Why would she contact Udina otherwise? Why make this personal by acting alone?'

'You expect me to know that?' Garrus asked. He stared at the commander hard, daring him to answer.

Chellick snorted. 'I don't know what to expect. Between Udina's little inspection and our losing contact with Arlen's team, it seems everything is going wrong. We must have a security leak within JSTF, there's no other way.'

'Now you're getting paranoid. Naris' death was suspicious enough for anyone to draw conclusions and we know Vastra was a hunted man. This is probably all just coincidence, Chellick, there's no reason to lose your head.'

'No _reason?_ ' barked Chellick. He fixed Garrus with a hateful gaze as every ounce of his frustration poured from his shining green eyes. 'We're facing a terrorist cell that will do anything to survive and we don't know how far they'll go to protect themselves. We don't know how far their influence reaches, how many friends they have.'

Garrus shook his head in genuine bemusement. 'So what are you saying? The Legion is using Udina and the councillor to disrupt the investigation? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?'

For a moment, Chellick paused, eyeing Garrus with an unreadable expression. Something passed over him, a subtle shadow that would have been lost to ordinary men but Garrus knew him. He knew how quickly Chellick could put on a new mask, a new face to the world.

His gut wrenched as the commander smiled, once again cool and master of his nerves.

'Of course,' he replied smoothly. 'You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself. Still, we have to find out the truth of the matter. Udina didn't win the councillor's support through his own charming disposition, after all. Whether her suspicion is through fact or, as you say, putting two and two together, we need to know.'

'No,' Garrus said firmly. ' _You_ need to know. I have a job to do, Chellick, and I need to get out there and help with the investigation.'

Chellick grinned, a sickly expression that turned Garrus' stomach. 'You'll do what I tell you, Vakarian. Don't forget our little arrangement. I still haven't discounted the possibility that you've confessed to the asari councillor yourself, and that you could be covering your tracks by feigning ignorance until you have what you need. Maybe protection, perhaps lenience should you go to trial? Or perhaps the guilt is just getting to you?'

A cold lump settled deep within Garrus at Chellick's unpleasant manner. The commander’s eyes were pitiless and filled only with his own twisted plans, his own mistrust. There would be no mercy or respite from the leverage he held over the agent and with a nauseous lurch, Garrus wondered how long he would be able to continue like this.

'What is it you want?' he finally asked, his voice heavy with dread.

Chellick looked at him with quiet satisfaction. 'I just need to know how much our esteemed councillor knows. You're a creative individual, Garrus, and your reputation for extreme measures will grant you a fair bit of latitude. Just one thing…' He waited until Garrus brought his uneasy gaze up to his own before continuing. 'I want you to get the information first hand. Not out of a datapad, not out of a terminal, but from the lips of the Councillor Tevos herself.'

Garrus' eyes widened. 'You want me to interrogate her? Do you have any idea how-'

'It won't be easy to make such a thing look legitimate,' Chellick admitted, 'but I trust you will use better judgement than you showed when dealing with her aide.'

The breath came from Garrus' lungs in short, but heavy lashes. His eyes wandered rapidly, large in their sockets as his heart threatened to burst in his chest. It thumped painfully against his ears, the sound matching his every thought of arrest and disgrace.

'You're crazy,' he muttered, his head hanging in exhausted consternation. 'I thought you were desperate, Chellick, but this…'

Chellick only offered him another grin as he found the peace of mind to take a seat once again. The chair scraped against the office floor and he casually opened his terminal before giving Garrus one last, amused, look.

'Be gentle with her, Garrus. She is a councillor, after all.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Keller's challenge was lost to the roar of the missile launcher. The loose strands of blonde hair that hung from her fringe floated in the back blast, drifting away from eyes that stared in terrified shock.

The explosion thumped through the window a heartbeat later, sending an ache through her chest that she could scarcely believe. The wind blew in a great gust, moaning between the buildings outside, carrying the aftershock away like rippling thunder.

Her lips lifted into a snarl and her finger squeezed the trigger.

Riona followed her lead, too stunned to ask questions, and the armoured humans quickly shuddered and fell under the weight of their fire. Within seconds the snaps of pistol fire had vanished to leave only the soft cry of the wind and the sharp stench of discharge vapour in the air.

The officers looked at one another. Riona in particular appeared shaken and Keller looked at her with concern.

'Are you okay?'

The young asari nodded slowly. 'I'm fine. I've just never…that is to say, I haven't…'

'Killed anyone before?' Keller finished for her. Riona nodded again. Keller finally let out the breath she had taken since seeing the missile fired.

'Me neither.'

The detective shuddered as she approached the window, though whether from the shock of her first kill, the cold of the frigid breeze or her terrible fear for Arlen, she couldn't tell. She peered over the window frame, now spattered with dark red gore, ignoring the sting as her hair whipped across her face.

The sight brought a chill to her blood.

A thick cloud of black smoke poured from Vastra's apartment, billowing out into the street and her mouth opened slightly in horror as she witnessed the source of the odd noises that haunted their ascent of the building.

Far below, streaks of rifle fire cut across the street, hammering the positions of Anaya and her people. Though they were small at such a height, she could see the attackers wore the same armour as the men she had just killed.

'My God,' she whispered disbelievingly. 'This is a full-scale assault. They're not just here for Vastra; they want to wipe us all out!'

Her words sent a ripple of anxiety through Riona and Keller turned to her with a grim expression. Before she could speak, however, a shuffling sound caught her attention.

At her feet, one of the soldiers was still alive. He moved jerkily, cursing and fumbling as he tried to push himself up onto his knees. He did not even seem aware of his surroundings as Keller pointed her weapon at him, her teeth bared in hatred.

'Detective!' Riona cried out. 'Don't shoot! He's wounded and no longer a threat. We need to give him medical aid as quickly as possible!'

Keller kept her weapon trained on him, her lips pursed as her mind threw images of fire, smoke and a young, dying turian in front of her eyes.

Somewhere deep within, she knew she had never felt this way before and a part of her recoiled at its ferocity.

'Detective, please!' Riona said again.

Her voice penetrated the fog and, slowly, Keller blinked away the rage. Clarity returned to her thoughts and her mouth opened gently, as if appalled at what she had almost done.

Finally, with a last sniff of contempt, she holstered her Striker. She felt empty and her gaze was cold as it fell on Riona.

'Take my medigel,' she said. 'Use it to patch him up. Make sure you cuff him first, though.'

Riona agreed with a quick bow of her head. 'Yes, ma'am. What will you do now?'

The young officer seemed to instantly regret asking the question as Keller regarded her with eyes that were drained of the quiet calm she had shown before.

'I'm going to find my friend,' Keller answered, her voice hard.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob's legs burned. It was a pain he knew well, being simply one of the muscles when they complained at their workload. It was why he trained relentlessly every day, pushing every part of his body to the extremes, testing them without remorse.

His lungs too ached deeply, sending a shard of agony down his throat with every breath.

The stairs flew by under him, too many to count. What floor was he on now? He had long stopped keeping track but he knew it was not yet enough for his purposes. The shotgun in his pack thumped painfully against his spine with every bounding step, adding yet another pain to the growing collection.

He hadn’t stopped running since the soldiers had poured into the street. It was only luck that the police had been so caught up in the surprise attack that they failed to notice Jacob sprint into a nearby structure, one that hugged his target building closely as it rose above like a protective sibling.

The sergeant was operating on adrenaline. He felt it like fire in his veins, rising above the petty protests of his body. It powered him on, conquering his exhaustion and driving him up the steps several at a time.

With a gasp, he stopped as the stairwell levelled off and a small door greeted him. He took a moment to suck in several mouthfuls of air before moving on, ignoring the itching sweat running down his dark skin.

The corridor outside was silent and empty, just like the rest of the building and he counted in his head as he passed more doors, their numbers flitting past too quickly to read.

 _This should be far enough,_ he confirmed to himself with a quick nod. He had paced the first fifty stairs and though he did not count the precise number, he knew he had travelled far enough in terms of vertical distance. An apartment roughly in the centre of the north-facing edge of the building would suit his needs perfectly.

The bland walls around him beckoned, inviting him to lean against them and rest. He ignored them. Sniffing a last, calming breath, his eyes grew sharp once more.

Suddenly, the whisper of voices crept into his ears. He stiffened in alarm. With everything that was going on, a questionably exhausted human would only arouse suspicion.

It was then he noticed the open door to his left. Jacob thanked his luck. He had not relished the thought of breaking into someone's home.

Something about the voices seemed odd, however, and it dawned on him as he carefully approached the doorway that whoever spoke was wearing a helmet. The soft hiss, the garbled tone, the sound was unmistakable.

He pressed himself into the wall, the lip of the open frame mere inches from his face.

'Something's happened to Hutchins and the others. They're not answering comms,' one of the voices said worriedly.

Jacob frowned. The voice was definitely not that of an asari. It was human, male, and certainly not a Corsair.

'They must've bugged out already,' another answered, this time deeper and heavily accented. 'You can see the smoke from here, look; they got the target. No sense in sticking around here while the guys down on the street get all the fun.'

A third voice laughed aloud. 'You're just jealous because we're stuck up here, Sanchez. You should take the time to appreciate the easy jobs. They pay just as well and there's less chance of getting a bullet through your neck.'

Jacob swallowed hard and blinked away the creeping ribbons of sweat from the corners of his eyes. With all the caution he could muster, he edged towards the doorway and peered into it.

Three figures stood idly in a large, comfortable living area. The room was bathed in a soft, white glow from the window that spanned the outer wall and Jacob narrowed his gaze at the sight of two dead asari police officers, the bodies dumped unceremoniously to one side. A sleek Thessian sniper rifle lay on the floor next to the bed, discarded as casually as its owner.

Perhaps it was the incredible pace at which he'd scaled the building, but Jacob's heart began to pound even harder as he registered the threat. He glanced around the room once more before concentrating on the trio themselves.

The standard-issue Alliance gear was instantly recognisable but Jacob had heard enough from these soldiers to know they weren't Marines. They stood lazily, Lancer rifles held loosely in grips that would take precious seconds to adjust before firing.

They were clearly not expecting company and Jacob grinned inwardly at their complacency. Though he usually didn't care to shoot first, time was running out and these men were obviously far from innocent.

'Hey, Sanchez,' the first soldier said, 'if you're bored you could always find a little entertainment with one of those asari bitches over there. They're still warm and I doubt she'll object, even for you.'

'Gross,' the deep one replied in disgust. 'Don't even joke about that, _pendejo!_ That's just nasty.'

Jacob stepped out into the apartment. His heavy boots quickly drew their attention and with a shout of alarm, all three men turned and raised their weapons.

They were not fast enough. The air around Jacob began to warp and seethe with blue energy. The moisture on his skin started to melt away in steamy wisps and with a roar of effort, he swung out his arm in a wide arc.

The biotic pulse slammed into the soldiers and the window behind them shattered into thousands of glittering shards.

The moment seemed suspended as the throw launched them from their feet, propelling them all through the sea of fragments and out into the empty void beyond. Their screams echoed for a few seconds, bouncing against the tightly packed apartment blocks before fading against the clamour of the battle below.

Jacob stumbled forward but his energy had deserted him. He sank to one knee, his body wracked with fatigue. The biotic kick had taken a huge toll on his already tired physique and he took each gulping breath through his open mouth, his teeth bared and bright.

Beside him, an ornate vase still rattled on its shelf, vibrating steadily until it settled with a dull clunk.

Jacob was still gasping for air when he finally forced himself up. He approached the broken window and the sudden touch of the frozen breeze fed life back into his senses.

His eyes narrowed as they took in the sight and his lips firmed with quiet frustration.

The roof of Vastra's building lay below, cloaked in the shadows thrown up by its neighbours. It was only a short distance away but the drop he faced was at least thirty feet.

Jacob silently cursed his miscalculation. Too many damn stairs after all. Still, he reasoned, it was too late for regrets and it was certainly too late to try and find another option.

He strolled back to the other side of the lounge, taking short, sipping breaths. He fixed his every thought on what had to be done and, with a flutter of hazy biotic energy, a kinetic barrier wrapped itself around every contour of his body.

The barrier shimmered and hummed and Jacob gnashed his teeth. The strength needed to maintain it was already eating away at the last of his reserves. It was now or never.

After taking a moment to ensure the straps of his pack were tight against his shoulders, he broke into a run. The apartment flashed by and his heart pounded as he neared the bare window frame. With a shout of animalistic determination, Jacob threw himself out into open air.

He closed his eyes tightly as the city blurred past. He dared not look down, where far below the street churned with the sounds of battle. He waited for the fall to end, every second bringing with it the stabbing, mortal fear that he had not jumped far enough and was simply tumbling towards the hard stone of the distant road.

He grunted in pain as the roof met his barrier, slamming against him with incredible force. He skipped and rolled, doing his best to mitigate the shock but it did little more than painfully jar his aching limbs. He felt one of the straps of his pack snap, releasing the pressure on his shoulder as the bulky weight flailed beside him.

Finally, he settled to halt, prone and facing the ground. He was unable to move or even open his eyes. All he could do was pant and heave, to try and feed his starving lungs.

The barrier flared briefly before dissipating and its sudden absence brought an immense chill to his skin.  Jacob shivered and attempted to control his ragged breathing. His chest was constrained by the ground and so with a gasp, he rolled onto his back.

 _Not the most orthodox use of a biotic barrier,_ he mused and a faint smile traced his lips at the thought.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The father looked at his son guardedly.

In the early morning sun the fierce, white paint lining the ridges of his dark face glowed intensely. His green eyes were fixed on the boy's, who kept his gaze squarely on a distant, imaginary horizon.

'You've surprised me,' the father muttered evenly.

It was the closest thing to praise the boy had heard for as long as he could remember.

His young body shivered in the frigid dawn air, tortured with exposure and strain. His smooth features were already like his father's, with skin the colour of dark wood and the tracings of his own markings etching pale, swirling patterns around his nose and mouth.

'I see your brother couldn't find the discipline to complete even the simplest of tasks,' the father spoke again. 'I'm glad to see one of you isn't completely worthless.'

The boy stiffened. He had listened to his brother's words in the night, listened to his complaints and talk of rebellion.

He still felt the stab of fear in his chest as his brother walked away, leaving him to stand in the same position as the night passed, with only the orders of his father keeping his feet rooted on the spot.

Every muscle in the boy's body ached with the stress of holding the position. Nine hours had passed since his father gave the order and his eyes had only left the middle-distance once, to fearfully watch the sun as it disappeared beyond the tree line ahead. The night had been unbearably cold and lonely.

The father narrowed his eyes and his mandibles parted in a sneer. 'Still, I find it ironic that the youngest, the _weakest_ of my children is the only one to still stand before me at the end. Perhaps it was nothing more than chance.'

He stepped forward and brought the back of his hand across the boy's face, hard. The small head rocked back as the slap echoed through the trees and it returned to its position instantly.

The father tutted and shook his head as he saw thin pricks of tears start in the boy's eyes.

'What have I told you about shutting out your emotions? About ignoring your weakness? Your body is a dumb animal; ignore the physical pain. The only thing that matters is your will, your courage.'

Another blow clapped through the still morning, sending a flight of crested birds from their perches high above.

When the boy's head turned back, the rising sun caught the thin river of blood coming from his flaring nostrils but still he remained silent, his eyes clear and dry. The father grunted his approval.

'Better. Turians never break, Arlen. Never. Remember that well.'

His hand struck out, faster and harder than before and the boy's world went black.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Suddenly, Arlen's eyes snapped open. 

A great expanse of murky light lay ahead, fringed with black. Flecks of grey wandered across his vision, drifting on the soft breeze he could sense faintly against his skin.

He blinked and the picture sharpened. The far wall of Vastra's apartment had disappeared entirely, opening it to the sky. The wind rushed into the room in uneven, ragged gusts, sending swirls of dust into the air.

Arlen tried to move. His joints were stiff but the combat armour had done its job and his arms ached only slightly as he moved them. With a soft groan, he reached up to his face and was surprised to see his fingers come away with a coating of thick, indigo blood.

He put it out of his mind as he tried his legs. They moved freely, sending a trickle of black dust and glass from his suit. 

He rose to his feet groggily and stepped carefully through the room. More glass crunched beneath his feet, and the distant crackle of weapons fire gradually found his ears.

Still, his mind could not focus on anything else. He devoted all his energy to scanning the ground until, finally, he saw the blackened lump sprawled on the floor in the kitchen.

Vastra was still breathing, Arlen saw as he approached, and tendrils of glistening blood flowed freely from the corners of his mouth.

As Arlen neared, he could not hold back a tug of remorse. Vastra's skin was charred and bloated, his eyes peering out as they shifted in panic and terror.

'Cole,' Arlen murmured as he sank to one knee beside him. 'Come on, Cole, stay with me.'

'I…' Vastra began, his voice little more than a harsh, agonised rasp. 'I'm sorry, Agent Kryik. For everything.'

'Don't say that, just try and concentrate on staying awake. We'll get you downstairs and fix you up. You'll be all right, do you hear me?'

'Don't be foolish, son,' Vastra croaked. His voice sent an oozing, bloody froth from his between his lips and Arlen was awed at the strength it must have taken for him to speak.

'I know this is the end for me. A fitting end, I would say. I…can…I can almost hear the spirits laughing at me. This is…what fate chose for me after all.'

'Cole...' Arlen began. He wanted to object, to tell Vastra he would live but they both knew it would be a lie.

'Stop Jardan,' Vasta said, every syllable a force of will. 'Please, stop him. He still has one last sample of the virus and he won't stop...the Legion...won't stop until they've taken their revenge for every turian that died on…Shanxi.'

Arlen pressed close to him, close enough to smell the sickly sweet smell from every laboured breath.

'Where is he?' he asked. 'I need the location, the planet, anything.'

Vastra's eyes grew wide. His body began to convulse and he pushed a few, feeble sounds from his lips.

'Find Qi'in. The Fusion…Directives…are in place. You need to...know...the origin. You have to...'

His voice faded, lost in a final whisper of expelled air.

Arlen placed a hand on Vaztra’s clothing, the material burned and ruined beyond recognition, and winced as he realised it had fused to Vastra's skin in the heat of the explosion.

The expression remained on Arlen’s face, a cringe of sorrow and despair, and he collapsed backwards from his knees to his backside. He raised a hand to his forehead, again feeling the cool wetness of blood on his skin but caring nothing for it.

He did not know Vastra. He hated the man for what he had done, what his comrades had done. He hated that place, with its nauseating stench of burned flesh and spent explosives, as well as the howling winds that sent eddies of dust into his eyes.

Yet still he sat, staring numbly at Vastra's corpse, and he felt a sadness deeper than anything he had ever known.

'Arlen?'

The voice was Petra's, some part of him acknowledged. Her artificial tones were tinged with worry. 'Arlen? Are you all right?'

'No,' he mumbled. 'No, I'm not all right.' He screwed his eyes shut, ignoring the harsh sting.

'This is...' He trailed off and opened his eyes. The pain, the frustration, coursed through him. It was a surge of weakness that he despised and yet could not resist, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out.

'This is too big for me. Why am I here? Why _me_?'

'Because...you are Interceptor,' Petra replied simply.

He snorted. 'I never wanted to be an Interceptor! It wasn't my choice. I wasn't asked. I was never ready for any of this!'

He stared ahead despondently. His eyes shifted as he grappled with the inferno of hatred and self-pity that raged inside him, constantly settling on Vastra as if the image was doomed to remain in his sight no matter what.

At that moment, he wished Nihlus was the one lying on that kitchen floor. He detested his brother anew for placing him there.

'So much death,' Arlen mumbled, 'and I don't even know who's doing the killing. I shouldn't be here. This is too much.'

'I wasn't asked either,' Petra replied, startling him. 'I wasn't asked. I didn't have the choice. They made me wake up and live alone, long months in the cold dark but I want to help, still. It's hard but I have to try! If I don't then other people will suffer, maybe worse than us! I don't want people to suffer...'

Her stumbling tirade came to an end as she became unsure of how to go on. Dimly, Arlen realised the AI had never been in such a position, to have someone rely on her words to keep them going.

He closed his eyes in shame. Everyone was being forced to go beyond their limits. He relied on them as much as they relied on him and if they could keep going, then so could he.

'All right,' he sighed as he prized himself off the ground. 'I think your inspirational speeches need some work, but I see what you're saying. Right here and now, there's no one here but us, right?'

'Right!' Petra chirped ecstatically and his omni-tool glowed briefly.

Arlen smiled weakly at the response. 'At least we have a name. If we can track down Lorik Qi'in then maybe, just maybe, we'll get to Krassus himself. At the very least we might be able to find out what the hell's going on.'

The frenzied crackle of weapons fire brought him back to his senses. It was coming from outside and he carefully approached the ragged remains of the apartment wall to look down.

The streets were in turmoil. Armoured assailants had surrounded Anaya and her officers, forcing them into a tightly packed knot as they used a ring of police shuttles for cover. Even from such a distance, Arlen could hear the loud slaps of rifle rounds hitting the shuttles, battering them into wreckage.

His heart pounded at the thought of Keller trapped in that withering fire storm and he pushed aside his own pain and discomfort as he turned away, determined to join the fight.

His feet slid through the scattered debris left by the missile impact, pushing aside pieces of broken furniture, half-buried in grey mortar dust. His progress was slow and it took several seconds for Arlen to realise he was limping heavily as he neared the entrance door.

Suddenly, he paused. Something was on the other side. The noises he heard could have been voices, but he was not certain. The wind still groaned as it swept through the wrecked wall, disguising every other sound in the air.

'Petra,' he said quietly, 'did you detect anything odd before I picked you up? Apart from the voice you mentioned?'

'No,' she replied thoughtfully, 'but if there was anything I couldn't see it. Everything got too loud, couldn't think. I locked the door when you came in here, though, in case target tried to run.'

'I see,' Arlen murmured. Slowly, he drew his pistol.

A sharp curse came from the other side of the door and Arlen tensed.

Someone was there, and their voice was too deep to be asari. He could hear a thin beep as the door lock refused give way.

'How strong is the lock on that thing?' Arlen asked.

Petra answered immediately. 'Not impossible to break.'

He nodded and waited patiently, listening. He pushed his head against the wall gently, ignoring the needling stabs that shot through his skull at the contact.

He heard small thuds, murmuring whispers. He felt small vibrations against his cheek as feet shifted impatiently outside.

Two men, possibly three. They were armed. Of course they were armed. Everyone in that city block seemed to be armed. The density of their footfalls indicated armour, though he couldn't be sure of the strength.

Arlen set his jaw in anticipation as he heard a faint warbling. The door lock had been hacked.


	24. Chapter 24

Keller winced as a stray round snapped over her head.

Every instinct urged her to drop to the ground, to press herself into its hard embrace and wait for the danger to pass but she pressed on, uncaring. Arlen was in danger and he needed her help.

She burst from the entrance lobby of the apartment building, running in a half-crouch as she plunged herself into the gun battle raging in the street.

All around her, anguished and fearful screams combined with the chattering of assault rifles into a raging storm of noise and light.

The police shuttles they had arrived in now formed a crude bastion, a barrier behind which Anaya and her officers hunched. As Keller approached, one of the asari spread her hands and a biotic shield bloomed over the beleaguered group, a glowing semi-sphere that immediately began to shimmer and vibrate as slugs slammed into it.

Keller slid along the ground to cover the last few feet, throwing herself through the barrier and behind a dented shuttle to settle alongside Anaya.

'Your snipers were dead when we arrived,' the detective shouted, 'but we've arrested one of the men responsible. They're wearing the same gear as the ones down here, using the same weapons. It looks to me like they green-lighted the attack once the snipers were down.'

'Goddess damn it,' Anaya replied bitterly, looking sadly at the ground. 'Those were good officers. They deserved better than this, to die at the hands of alien mercenaries in their own city.' For a moment she looked up at Keller, her eyes wide. 'What about Riona? Is she safe?'

Keller nodded. 'Relax, she's fine.'

A great weight seemed to leave Anaya at hearing the news and her shoulders sagged with relief. 'Thank you, Detective. I know you didn't have to go up there and risk your life but you did it anyway. It turns out your instincts were right after all.' She tilted her head in the direction of their assailants. 'Just after you left they blocked both entrances to the street before pouring out of the truck at the far end. Can't help but wonder why they only chose to attack from one side.'

'Makes sense to me,' Keller answered. 'If they attacked from both sides it'd increase the risk of crossfire. These people aren't stupid.'

'I just can't believe it,' Anaya muttered, her eyes downcast. 'How could they move this many troops through the city without anyone noticing? This is way bigger than the small-time gang shoot-outs we get in the lower city. This is a damn private army!'

'It's too early to jump to conclusions,' Keller reminded her. 'You can worry about finding out their identities when all this is over. Right now I need to get to Arlen. He's still in Vastra's apartment and I watched them blow the whole place apart with a damn missile launcher. I _have_ to get in there!'

'I was wondering where that explosion came from. It was one hell of a blast. If Arlen was in there when it went off then he must be dead.'

'He's _not_ dead!' Keller argued, more fiercely that she’d intended. She was aware of how she must have appeared to the captain; panting, sweating and filled with irrational impulse.

She knew Anaya only spoke the obvious. Vastra's apartment was nothing more than a gaping hole in the building above their heads and though the smoke had cleared, the jagged edges of the wall showed the destructive power of the missile the attackers had used. It seemed impossible that anything could have survived.

Anaya shook her head. 'I can't let you blindly run up there alone, and I can't move any more of my people from this position. Backup should be here in five minutes. When they arrive you can look for your agent but until then I need you here on the ground, not dashing off into Goddess knows what.'

'I can't just wait here! For all I know Arlen could be dying or wounded! Please,' Keller implored, grasping Anaya's arm. 'Please, I have to go to him!'

Anaya stared at Keller for a time, perhaps seeing some of her own worry for Riona echoed in the detective’s panic. Biting her lip, she relented with a slow nod.

'Fine,' she said at last. 'My squad and I will give you covering fire so you can make a break for it. Just be careful up there, all right?'

Relief flooded through Keller and she clasped a hand over Anaya's shoulder. 'Thank you, Captain.'

Anaya grunted. 'If we ever see each other again you might not have to call me that. With everything that's happened today I'll be surprised if they let me keep my job. A damn war in the streets, complete communication blackout over an entire city sector, I'll be lucky if I'm not brought up on charges for this.'

'None of this was your fault,' Keller replied.

'Maybe not,' the captain said with a bitter, mirthless smile, 'but that won't matter to the district governor. The next time we meet I might be a detective again, just like you.'

Her voice held a heavy note of resignation and Keller closed her eyes, saddened. She felt a wave of guilt shudder through her as she considered the role JSTF had played in Anaya's fate, and the Forgotten Legion. The terrorists had affected more lives than just the ones they had taken. Others would now be changed irrevocably, their fates altered by the unfolding chaos and Keller wanted to say something, if only to try and reassure Anaya everything would be all right.

The asari seemed to sense her thoughts. 'Don't worry about me. Go and find your agent, Detective. We'll hold out here as long as we can.'

Keller nodded sharply and turned to dash out from the shelter of the shuttle. The noise around her increased as Anaya cried out to her subordinates, urging them to drown the enemy in a torrent of fire.

Keller's head snapped to the left, taking in the multitude of blue streaks scarring the air as the fire fight intensified. The road scraped beneath her feet and her breath burned in her lungs as she ran with all her strength, praying the soldiers would not spot her.

She jumped as a slug cracked into the ground beside her but she did not stop. The dark entrance of Vastra's building swallowed her and she threw herself inside with a last surge of effort, tumbling across the cold stone floor as she gasped for air.

Keller squeezed her eyes shut as she forced herself to her feet and brought up her omni-tool. She could not allow herself to rest and she swore loudly as the interface around her arm fizzed and spluttered. The interference was still active it seemed, but that shouldn’t have surprised her.

Then, suddenly and without warning, the display sharpened. Keller's eyes widened as all around her, the lobby came to life. A nearby extranet terminal beeped to welcome its next user and her suit radio rang out with the voices of the besieged police officers outside.

Quickly, she shut off the noisome communicator and began to frantically finger the haptics on her omni-tool.

A connection was made to JSTF almost instantly and Keller almost laughed aloud in pleasure at the sound of Lina's voice as it blared from the speakers.

'Detective Keller, are you there? Can you hear me?'

'I'm here!' she replied ecstatically. 'God, am I glad to hear your voice. What the hell happened?'

'Keelah, I can't believe it. Milo's plan actually worked.' A justified note of pride entered the quarian's voice. 'We discovered the disruption over there was being caused by the release of the Jamestown Virus. Luckily, we managed to counteract the effects of it using some recent software advances provided to us by Network. It was a miracle the virus was confined to that planet. If it got into the comm-buoys there's a good chance we wouldn’t have been able to reach you.'

'This was caused by the same damn virus that infected the Jamestown?' Keller asked, incredulous.

'I’ll explain later,' Lina said, 'for now we need to stick to the mission. Is Arlen with you?'

Arlen. Keller did not reply and, in her haste, cut the signal to Lina as she tried to hail the Interceptor on her suit radio.

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

Arlen watched as three men entered the apartment, hidden from sight as he pressed himself to the wall beside the door.

Humans, he noted, not Legion. The gear they wore was basic and the weapons they carried were held down towards the ground, as if they expected no danger. It was a reasonable assumption. He’d been lucky to survive the explosion and it would be easy to presume the blast would kill anyone close by.

The soldiers wandered in the direction of Vastra's body and the lead man turned the charred corpse over with his foot as he muttered to his comrades. Their backs were turned and their attentions focused.

For a moment Arlen twitched with the urge to draw his Striker but decided against it. There were too many and their shields would deflect his shots easily, giving them more than enough time to react and his own suit would be no match for three assault rifles at close range.

He moved slowly and gently towards the door.

'Arlen, do you read me?' came a harsh call from his suit. It was Keller's voice. 'Please, please be all right.'

Arlen's heart stopped and he froze at the sound. In front of him, the soldiers too jerked in alarm at the sudden break in silence and the nearest one began to turn towards him.

His eyes growing wide, Arlen made the decision in an instant and he allowed his instincts to take hold. He rushed forward as the nearest rifle swung up to take aim.

Arlen got there first and took hold of the barrel, pulling it forward before ramming it into the soldier's helmet with a force that sent it rocking back. In the same movement, he twisted the weapon from the man’s grip and grasped an arm, looping it overhand before bringing down his weight on the elbow with a sickening crack.

The human screamed in agony as the limb was torn from its socket and he fell to the ground, clutching at it feverishly. His companions woke from their shock but Arlen was already among them.

He darted in, landing a blow to the head of the first man and sending him back with a stumble.

Arlen shifted his weight onto his rearmost leg as the other struck out. The swing was clumsy and Arlen countered easily, landing a flurry to the body that jarred the armoured figure, knocking him back with a series of pained grunts.

Behind him, Arlen sensed the familiar clicks of a rifle being primed as the other soldier steadied his aim. He recalled Olansi's actions back on Omega and grabbed the soldier he had just hit, swinging the dazed human around in front of him to meet a burst of Lancer fire.

The rounds penetrated the soldier’s shields and his body quickly grew limp in Arlen's hands. It was tossed aside in a ragged heap and Arlen leapt forward, bringing his hand up sharply under the Lancer's barrel before the trigger could be pulled again, knocking it up and sending a line of splintered holes tearing through the ceiling.

He lashed out, taking hold of the rifle in his right hand as he punched with his left, desperate to break the human's grip. Finally, the soldier dropped the weapon and brought up his hands to block Arlen's blows.

The hard cracks of armour striking armour echoed through the apartment and Arlen cried out as the soldier's fist licked out to catch him on the cheek.

The pain was an excruciating whip of fire on his skin and he was startled to see the human's knuckles covered with blue blood.

The soldier became more confident with the contact, and Arlen felt pressed as he was forced to shuffle aside to avoid the blows. He struck out several times but the human's helmet was thick and took the hits without flinching, all while lashing out savagely.

The apartment seemed to blur around them as each man sought an advantage. Arlen gave ground as he tried to sense a weakness and he became dimly aware they had entered the kitchen. The sink lay to his right, filled with murky water and sodden clothing.

His instincts twitched and he grabbed the soldier's arm after a poorly-ranged jab. He twisted, eliciting a sharp cry from the human and with all his strength, Arlen placed a hand behind the man’s head and plunged it into the sink.

Water sloshed and poured over the edge as the human thrashed about in a panic. Bubbles erupted as the helmet's respirators flooded and the man's strength seemed to double as the desire to escape became overwhelming.

The soldier still had presence of mind, and with a quick movement he used his free hand to thumb the release catch on his helmet. The grey dome slid free and the human staggered back as his helmet slid under the water.

Arlen narrowed his eyes at the pale skin, now flushed with effort and rage. The human glared at him balefully with brown eyes, his shaven skull gleaming with sweat. After only a moment, he came at Arlen again, his fists streaking in at a blinding speed.

The turian was ready.

Arlen's hand snatched up a metal tray from the kitchen counter and used it to block the punches with ease. After each blow the edge of the tray flickered out, catching the human in the face and in just seconds his nose was trickling blood. A large gash opened above the human’s left eye, and he grew more incensed with every injury.

His strikes clattered on the tray and Arlen swept it through the air, cracking it against the man’s head with a metallic clang. He held it in position and punched against it with loud grunts of fury. The silvery surface quickly dented and buckled under his armoured fist and with a resounding thud, the human collapsed, his head a red mass of cuts and swollen flesh.

Arlen stood for a moment, panting. Two soldiers lay before him, sprawled amongst the filth and debris littering the apartment. The one whose arm he’d broken must have fled during the fight.

His eyes passed over the hastily-made footprints in the dust, the tracks leading out of the door. Perhaps Anaya would catch him. Arlen really did not care at that moment.

The adrenaline in his blood thinned and he slumped. He stepped back uneasily and rested against the counter, his head drooping. His instincts, so sharp and honed only moments before, now deserted him and left him cold and sluggish.

He eyed the surface of the tray he’d used. It was useless now; a twisted, bloody piece of metal and he tossed it aside apathetically before wincing and touching a hand to his face. His own blood seemed to be pouring out and just the thought of it made him feel dizzy.

His eyelids dropped, bringing momentary veils of darkness over his vision. He was not aware of the footsteps until it was too late.

His fingers grasped feebly for the pistol at his hip but they were clumsy and slipped, unable to find a purchase.

He cursed softly. In only a few heartbeats he had become weak, the sustaining mix of danger and excitement now suddenly absent.

He heard someone speak, as if from far away, and he looked up slowly as Keller's voice entered his ears.

'Arlen, please, look at me!'

He felt a hand press against his cheek, guiding him and with careful tenderness, Keller brought his gaze up to hers.

'Detective?' he asked groggily. 'Detective, is that you?'

Keller grinned as an overwhelming, almost sickening feeling of relief looked to overwhelm her. She checked over him and Arlen could not miss the sudden way her eyes shimmered, her lips pressed together in worry.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

She did not know how to answer. She could only stare in mute, terrified shock at the bloody mess that was Arlen's face.

The explosion had torn a jagged gash across the breadth of his features, rending a dark line from his lower right cheek across his nose and up above his left brow.

Dark blood caked his eye sockets and washed over the little paint that remained on his skin, discolouring it until it was impossible to distinguish against the rest of the murky gore.

The sight of it made Keller’s mouth fall open and it took great effort for her to force a response.

'I…n-never mind. We need to get out of here.'

She took his arm and hefted it over her shoulder, staggering slightly as his weight bore down on her. With her free hand she punched at her suit radio.

'Anaya, this is Keller. Do you hear me?'

'I read you, Detective,' Anaya replied. The captain sounded tired, though the sounds of battle seemed to have receded in the background. 'I don't know how but all our comms started working again shortly after you left. The mercs must've realised it too and they're beginning to fall back. We have most of the Nos Astra police force converging on this location as we speak and they'll be hungry for revenge.'

'That's good to hear. I've found Arlen. He's alive but badly injured. He needs urgent medical attention.'

'Is it that bad?' Arlen asked weakly.

Keller swallowed and forced herself to look at Arlen's wounds more closely. 'I'm no expert but there's at least one deep laceration and you’ve lost a lot of blood. I need to get you to a hospital.'

'No!' Arlen cried out suddenly, startling her with his strength as his body jerked in response. 'Lorik Qi’in. I need to find Lorik Qi'in. We're so close, Detective! Just…just give me a dose of medigel and I'll be fine.'

Keller kept her gaze on him but he did not relent. He stared at her with a cool determination that she knew she could not argue with.

'Did you get that?' the detective asked, unable to look away from Arlen.

'Yes. Get to the roof,' Anaya replied. 'I have three tactical response squads ready to touch down in five minutes. I'll inform the shuttle crews to take you back to the spaceport from there and you can use the station's medical supplies to patch yourself up.'

'Thank you, Captain,' Arlen growled.

Anaya sniffed. 'Just make sure all this is worth it.'

As the knowledge that Anaya was now beyond them sank in, Keller and Arlen slipped into a brooding silence. The only sound to peak above the final smatterings of distant gunfire was the scraping of Arlen's numb, dragging feet on the ground as they made their way out of the apartment.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

The coming evening was starting to force the other diplomats from their offices by the time Udina arrived back at the embassy.

The great, lumbering elcor ambassador rumbled a polite greeting as they passed one another in the corridor while his volus companion merely held his masked head high, unwilling to dignify Udina’s presence.

Udina ignored them both, making for his office without a glance in their direction. If he heard the volus ambassador’s derisive mutterings, he did not show it as his office door slid smoothly shut behind him.

The office was calm and still, and from the window beyond he could see a thin stream of people making their way to the financial district; and more than a few of his fellow politicians crossing the bridge to Sha'ira's.

Many of them were married, he knew, but since when had matrimonial commitments mattered to those with the powerful combination of money and beautiful, exotic women?

He would have smiled at the asari consort's cunning if his mind was not filled with grim purpose.

After a cursory glance about the office, Udina reached out to his terminal out of instinct, barely stopping his hand before it could reach the haptic keyboard.

His lips twisted in irritation at the lapse in thought and he reached for the small, cylindrical comm unit stowed in his pocket.

It was a tiny silver thing that weighed nothing and had passed through JSTF's scanners without issue, as promised. It had arrived at his desk that morning along with the asari councillor's warrant, delivered by a diplomatic courier who knew nothing of its sender.

Udina furrowed his brow at the memory of his first use of the comm unit that morning, and he thumbed the transmitter button only after a few moments of grudging consideration.

'Are you there?' he asked brusquely.

The voice on the other end was masked heavily, turning it into an electronic drone that sounded almost mechanical.

'Yes,' it said, sounding pressured, almost rushed to Udina's ears. 'I appreciate your faith in my warning. I take it the forgery worked?'

'He did not take the time to have the councillor's letter of authority authenticated, if that's what you mean.'

'Of course,' the voice said, 'he's frightened and the more scared he gets, the more he'll react without thinking. You played your part, I assume?'

Udina frowned gently. 'Of course, though I'd rather have taken the information out of his damn hide in front of his whole organisation. You should have seen him; so smug and self-assured, as if he held all the cards.'

The voice seemed to sense his quiet anger and spoke pleadingly. 'You've done far more damage to him by reacting the way you did. He will think he has leverage over you and that sense of security will make him complacent. Besides, exposing him too soon will only do more harm than good and you know as well as I do that the Legion are the true enemy. Nothing good will come of disrupting the investigation too deeply. You need to be patient, Ambassador.'

For a moment, Udina hesitated. He thought of Major Dukov and the Corsairs, his own ace in the hole. The news of Chellick’s data theft was still like acid in his stomach but the more his mysterious ally spoke, the more opportunities had presented themselves.

He doubted the voice, for all its apparent wisdom, knew anything about the Corsairs and the possibility that Udina could end up with all he wanted on a silver platter had never seemed so real.

'I've been patient enough,' he snapped, hiding his inner hopes. 'It was an insult that I had to endure that upstart turian's little show and act the oblivious fool. We still have a renegade general on our hands and little more besides. I've taken a great risk already in trusting your word. If the Councillor Tevos gets wind of this-'

'She won't,' the voice cut in, 'not unless Chellick is foolish enough to confront her directly. He has every bit as much to hide as you, if not more. All you need to do is wait, Ambassador. Now, if you'll excuse me.'

The line was cut with a soft click and Udina's mouth pursed. It had suddenly grown dry during the exchange as plans and stratagems worked their way through his thoughts, forced through like a burning river as the memory of Chellick's triumphant expression flooded his mind.

He still remembered the turian's snide tone as he revelled in his own private victory.

The small moment of satisfaction Udina had felt when unveiling the forged Council warrant had been lost in an instant. It was a bitter draught at the time but now Udina felt a warm glow as he considered his benefactor's words.

He did not know who had come to his aid but he had at least one clue.

Udina recalled his meeting before going to confront Chellick. He had privately sought to have the mysterious communicator identified by a local expert, a turian who merely shrugged his shoulders after a quick examination.

‘Whatever it is,’ the turian had said, ‘it’s something far more advanced than the standard-issue tech the military would hand out.’

'But it _is_ military?' Udina had pressed urgently. The old alien had shuffled on the spot, clearly uncomfortable to be in such prestigious company but his voice had been steady.

'Only the most advanced and secretive organisations in the galaxy would have access to this kind of thing,' the turian claimed as he turned the communicator over in his palm. 'Nothing short of asari Commandos, I'd wager, or even salarian Special Tasks Group.'

If that was true, Udina now considered, then the stakes of the game were even higher than he’d anticipated.

Tucking the device back into his suit pocket, the ambassador tapped his fingers lightly on his desk. His terminal may still have been compromised and he dared not risk the leak of any more information until Chellick had been dealt with.

He allowed himself a subtle grin. The game had barely even begun.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The door to the roof opened to a blast of ice-cold air. It should have been a refreshing balm on Arlen's skin but instead it seemed to tear at his exposed cuts, tormenting him with needling pains that spread across his cheeks and to his mandibles below.

Keller grunted as she adjusted his arm, feeling the weight on her shoulders grow as the young turian weakened.

'Come on,' she murmured to him, 'almost there. Don't pass out on me now.'

'Easy for you to say,' he muttered, forcing a painful grin. 'You don't have half your face missing.'

Despite her gnawing worry, Keller smiled back as her eyes scanned the rooftop.

'Don't be a baby, it's just a scratch. You won't even need medigel for it, I guarantee.'

'Funny. I thought you were a detective, not a doctor.'

'Well,' she retorted, turning her pale blue eyes to his, 'when you first saw me you likened me to a cheap hooker, so either one of those is a step up.'

Her smiled widened as she saw Arlen's mouth work soundlessly, the memory of his own words flooding back in a surge of embarrassment.

As their feet skidded across the ground, she decided to press her advantage. 'And correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you've examined far more naked alien bodies than I have, so if anyone is qualified to be a doctor, it's you.'

'It was an accident, I told you!' he replied frantically, wincing as he stretched his mouth a little too wide.

Keller laughed, a genuinely warm sound that seemed to banish the pain and discomfort they both felt.

Arlen looked at her and his horrified expression slowly eased as he realised she was joking.

'You're teasing me, aren't you?'

'What do you think?' she replied, looking at him again. 'You sure as hell woke up in a flash, though. I think I deserve some credit for that. No medigel? Try bringing up the awkward moment when your partner walked in on you in the shower, works every time.'

In spite of his torturous aches, Arlen chuckled lightly. 'If you say so, Detective.'

'Hey,' Keller said sharply, waiting to feel Arlen's questioning gaze on her before continuing. 'Call me Amanda. I think you've earned that much at least.'

'Amanda,' he repeated, tasting the name on his lips. It felt good to say it.

It occurred them that they had no idea where the police shuttles would touch down, and so Keller directed them towards the edge of the roof, hoping to get a clear view of the situation below in the street.

She only saw the shape detach itself from a nearby shadow when it had drawn too close for her to react.

Her eyes widened in panic and her hand snatched for her pistol, freezing as she saw the shotgun barrel aimed squarely at her chest.

Arlen tilted his head but his weapon arm was thrust over Keller's shoulder; there was nothing he could do but stare, grim faced at the newcomer.

The human eyed them both coolly down the shotgun's sights. He wore dirty civilian leathers, with stained work pants that could be found on any port worker and eezo miner in the Attican. His dark brown skin was mottled with the sweat of exertion and there was a slightly sour odour about him, not unlike the vapours given off by shuttle engines.

Arlen saw something in his eyes, however. They glistened with experience of war and death, just like Crixus and Vastra’s. This was a soldier and one that would not hesitate to shoot them dead if he desired to.

 _The question_ , Arlen pondered silently, _is why he hasn’t done so yet?_

'You're not with the other humans, are you?' Arlen asked calmly. 'The ones who attacked us?'

The man did not answer. He continued to gaze at them, showing nothing of his thoughts.

Arlen knew he should have been afraid but the terror of staring at a loaded weapon, at death itself, did not come. He had seen far too much death that day to fear it.

He used his free hand to wipe a smear of blood from his lips before speaking again.

'I don't know who you are, human, but I think if you wanted to kill us then you'd have pulled the trigger by now. I don't want to fight you so if you have something to say to us, just say it.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob's blank expression did not betray his inner turmoil. He had seen the injured turian stagger from the roof exit but it was not Vastra. He remembered his target from the briefing back on the Citadel and this was definitely not him. 

Still, this one could only have sustained his horrific wounds from the same explosion Jacob had felt shuddering through the building a short time ago and it was too much to suspect a coincidence.

'I'm looking for a turian, goes by the name Coleran Vastra,' Jacob said. His lips moved as if to continue but he choked the sound off quickly. That was all they needed to know.

The turian's eyes were still. 'He's dead. Killed in the attack.'

Jacob found it hard to hide his surprise at how quickly he spilled the truth. People had always told him he was far too trusting but there was no lie in the turian's eyes. He felt a small tug of suspicion but the deep, motionless gaze of the bloody alien in front of him convinced him more than words ever could.

'So who are _you?_ ' Jacob asked. This time it was the turian’s turn not to answer and so Jacob glanced over all the details his sharp mind could pick out, spelling them aloud. 'C-Sec armour, could be a copy or stolen but the lady here is a human. I'm guessing that means you ain't part of the Legion. C-Sec doesn't have jurisdiction in this part of space so that makes me think you're something special.'

He paused to let his words sink in before asking outright. 'You're the Interceptor the Council sent. Am I right?'

The breeze moaned around them, bringing fingers of ice clutching around the napes of their necks but no one seemed to feel it. The whines of nearby traffic lanes were a ghostly whisper on the wind, doing their best to break the rigid tension that had fallen on the group.

Finally, the turian nodded slowly.

'That's right. My name is Arlen Kryik. I've been tasked with bringing the Forgotten Legion to justice.'

'And what kind of justice _is_ that, exactly?' Jacob asked instantly, his voice spiked with anger.

'A court of law, then whatever the jury decides. It's out of my hands.'

Jacob's gaze intensified. 'And you're happy with that? Is that what those people aboard the Jamestown deserve?'

Arlen replied with a pain that went beyond the cuts marring his face.

'I was there when it happened, human,' he said, his voice almost breaking with the memory. 'I saw the Jamestown destroyed by the ships of my own people, over a thousand innocent lives ended like they were nothing. I was helpless to do anything about it back then and every time I close my eyes I see that white flash against the stars, so don’t talk to me like I don’t understand.'

The woman’s lips parted slightly and her hand reached up to Arlen's arm as it lay over her shoulder, resting gently on his glove.

'Nobody,' Arlen went on, ' _nobody_ wants to see the Legion pay more than I do, human. But I have honour. I respect the rules, the boundaries they were so quick to cast aside when they attacked the Jamestown. I...I'll show that my people believe in order, not chaos. Not vengeance. Turians never break, human. Not on the battlefield and not in what we stand for. That's what I'll prove when I drag Krassus back in chains.'

The silence that followed was long and pained. Jacob's gaze searched them both.

He knew what he should do. He knew the Corsairs' mission stood on a knife's edge, that Vastra was dead and their only hope was to seek out Krassus himself.

He also knew their presence had to remain a secret. If anyone knew the Alliance was involved then it would cause a cross-species incident not seen since the Krogan Rebellions.

The voice of pragmatism spoke, whispering harshly into his mind. He had no doubt Dukov would've shot both the Interceptor and his companion, removing both witnesses to their presence as well as the competition for their prize.

He tried to summon the same cold face the major had shown when he executed the slaves back on the Razor.

Jacob bared his teeth and pulled the trigger.

The rounds impacted on the ground by Arlen's feet, a spray of fire that tore out a chunk of grey stone, and a perforating bang echoed cleanly against the surrounding towers.

The sound disappeared quickly and the shotgun fell to hang limply at Jacob's side.

Arlen did not flinch. He did, however, eye the human with open curiosity and raised his blood-soaked brows as Jacob's deep voice carried over the wind.

'You know, I think you're talkin' more sense than all the soldiers and politicians combined, Interceptor, but it ain't my call to make. I have my own orders, like you. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill someone who's actually trying to do some good in this whole mess. I just hope we don't have to meet like this again.'

The warning was not lost on Arlen and he bobbed his head solemnly in understanding. Suddenly, the turian pitched forward in a moment of weakness. He stumbled and the woman grunted as she tried to steady him.

Immediately, Jacob sprang forward to help, clutching Arlen's armour until he found the strength in his legs once again.

'Thank you,' Arlen said, panting. 'It's good to see that honour is still alive in this galaxy.'

Jacob nodded sharply. Without another word, he turned and jogged towards the exit, tossing his shotgun aside lest the police catch him armed on the way back down to the street.

Arlen and Keller watched him go, and the detective spoke softly.

'This is getting insane. How many people are trying to kill us now?'

Arlen cringed softly as her remark made him smile against his stinging wounds.

'I've lost count.'

The strange human had barely disappeared from sight before the strangled drones of sirens made themselves heard and a trio of gleaming police shuttles landed on the roof.

Teams of asari assault officers burst from them and fanned out in unison, their high-powered assault rifles held with expert precision. It did not take long for them to help Arlen and Keller into the shuttles and the team leader rapped her hand on the roof once they were inside, sending it on its way.

Far below, Captain Anaya watched the craft drift away, her emotions mixed. Despite everything that had happened, and her own uncertain future, she offered a prayer to the Goddess for the Interceptor's success.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Varn was very still as he watched an entire fleet of police shuttles spread out across the entire area. Sirens wailed into the evening sky and the panicked confusion of the crowds was thick in the air, growing ever more acute as the weapons fire and explosions disappeared.

The recon scope blurred with static for a moment, breaking his concentration. Varn drew his eyes away from the instrument, blinking the tiredness from them.

Around him, his men shuffled, unsure of what to do and suddenly nervous at the sound of so many sirens. The rooftop Varn had chosen to watch the unravelling anarchy was cold and no turian liked the cold.

'Sir?' a centurion asked, approaching Varn with a troubled expression. 'Do you see what's going on?'

Varn straightened. He did not want to answer the question. He just wanted to watch, to see with his own eyes if Vastra had been caught, if he had allowed himself to be captured like a frightened animal or had fought like a warrior. His persistent dislike of the prefect assured him it would be the former.

'The situation has changed,' he said calmly. 'Assemble the squad and meet back at the safe house.'

Though his mandibles quivered with unsatisfied curiosity, the centurion obeyed. He wandered over to the rest of the men and with a few curt words of command, dismissed them from the roof.

Varn turned back to gaze stonily at the distant street. At such a distance it was little more than a dark crack in the wall of skyscrapers before him but several twisting veins of smoke marked out Vastra’s apartment.

He lowered his head and eased his vision back into the scope once again.

Orange lines washed over the scene and the view zoomed in steadily, fixing on a thin sliver of rooftop that squirmed with rushing figures.

Suddenly, his brow furrowed. Two people stood apart from the rest of the officers; a turian and a human, from what he could tell. Their C-Sec-pattern armour was unmistakable and the way they limped painfully spoke of their part in the battle. He watched, fascinated as they were packed into a waiting shuttle, escorted almost.

Varn's lips pressed together in thought, and he would have held the pensive expression for a long time if his omni-tool had not started to beep insistently.

Immediately he snatched at his arm, and in the waning sunlight his omni-tool was a warming shade of orange that he basked in gratefully.

'Sir?'

Krassus' stern tone played out and Varn's frown deepened as he detected the note of obvious worry in his general's voice.

'Avitus? What's going on? You're late with your report.'

'There's been a complication, Sir,' Varn replied carefully. 'Someone got to Prefect Vastra before we did. The place is a mess; a pitched battle in the streets, city-wide electronic interference and now the entire sector is crawling with police. We couldn't get close.'

'How could this happen?' Krassus snapped. 'No one else knew of his location. They couldn't have found out, not so quickly!'

Varn tried to hide his disdain for Vastra's incompetence as he answered.

'On the contrary, Sir, Vastra left a very clear trail. It was only a matter of time before they discovered his involvement in Jump Zero and he was careless in covering his tracks. Not only that but he ignored the order to pull back to Zorya. I'm convinced he wanted to get caught.'

'That's impossible,' Krassus said instantly. 'I know him, Avitus. He was there on Shanxi, with Lorik and myself. He gave up everything he had to form the Legion with us and I can't accept that he'd throw it all away for nothing.'

'Regardless, Sir, the fact remains that he has possibly compromised the Legion. Not only that but…' Varn paused as his mind turned back to the C-Sec officers he’d spotted. 'Sir, I think C-Sec of all people may be onto us.'

'Citadel Security?' Krassus scoffed. 'Don't be ridiculous. They have no authority outside of the Citadel. If the Council were so concerned they would send a Spectre.'

A strong gust of wind brought with it the potent yet familiar tang of smoke and death, making Varn's nostrils close tightly in response. He stared out across the city, his mind churning. Something about the whole affair was wrong. Simply wrong. He felt the old itch, that very real sensation a soldier feels when he knows something is amiss.

'What I want to know,' he mumbled, almost to himself, 'is who caused all this destruction. There's no way the police would destroy an entire city block just to get to Vastra.'

Krassus snorted harshly. 'It's irrelevant now, Avitus. The mission has failed. I want you and your men back on Zorya within the next twenty-four hours.'

Varn looked at his omni-tool suddenly in disgust. 'But Sir, we can salvage this situation. Give me two days and I can find out the truth.'

'That's out of the question, Tribune!' Krassus snarled, his temper lost. 'It's bad enough I sent you without the consent of Yanus. I can't risk you storming across the galaxy in plain view, marching from planet to planet until you feel enough loose ends have been tied. If Yanus finds out I disobeyed him then the Council authorities will be the least of our concerns.'

 _So that’s it,_ Varn thought to himself with a grunt. Once again it boiled down to the general's fear of some cowardly voice who dared not show his true face. Yanus' involvement with the Legion had always reeked of shadows and intrigue, a game Varn had always despised. He would be damned if he would let such an individual compromise his honour.

With a slight grimace, Varn closed the connection, bringing silence to the evening air once again. He did not feel good about going against Krassus' orders but he knew the old general would thank him in the end.

If he did not then the Legion was truly lost.


	25. Chapter 25

 

Delanynder’s Emporium was thick with late evening shoppers by the time Yaro and Brasca entered. The crowd milled around the various displays, murmuring over the prices of rare wines and fabrics while Delan himself haggled with a turian customer. 

The hanar rippled as he caught sight of the C-Sec officers but said nothing, and Yaro shot him a quick smirk before leading his turian partner into the back of the store.

He couldn't resist prodding the jelly at every opportunity. Like Brasca's earlier display with the ramen chef, some people needed to be reminded of their obligations at every turn. Some, again like Brasca, enjoyed using their fists enforce their will but Yaro had always preferred the subtle approach, one of threats masked with friendly remarks and gestures.

'You've got blood on your hands,' he said suddenly as the thought popped into his head.

Brasca blinked and looked down at his gloves. Sure enough, there were several dark brown splotches lining his knuckles that flaked away when he scratched at them.

'Is this really worth dragging me all the way out here?' Brasca complained as he rubbed at his stained hands, well aware it was not the first time he had asked.

Yaro glanced over his shoulder, irritated. 'If you want a cut of the profits then I expect you to pull your weight. This whole operation needs to be closely monitored every day to make sure everything's running smoothly. You never know, someone might notice something wrong with the machine in Flux or come across one of the signal relays. Either that or the keepers might take exception to our little modifications. If that happens, it won't be hard to trace the signal back here.'

'So, what do we do if that happens?'

'Can you guess?' Yaro asked sarcastically. He thought the answer was obvious but the blank look from Brasca told him otherwise.

The salarian sighed. 'If that happens then we purge the system. We transfer all remaining credits to our off-station accounts and wipe the mainframe. Simple as that.'

'Oh,' Brasca mumbled. 'Simple as that, huh?'

'Stop being so damn negative. It's just a precaution, that's all, at least until things have been running smoothly for a while and we can afford to relax and let the VI do the work. I mean, this is just the beginning. You gotta expect a little ground work before you can start raking in all the credits in the galaxy.'

As they stopped in front of the mainframe, Brasca's features scrunched into a disdainful expression. He hated computers at the best of times and this one was bigger than any he'd seen before, an enormous wall of lights and circuitry packed into a ridged, creamy brown plastic case.

A central control panel blinked at them expectantly and Yaro raised his hand to the keys.

'First step; type in the passw-'

'Vocal signatures recognised. Users identified,' the computer said suddenly, and Yaro's hand froze. 'Officers Jotan Yaro and Severus Brasca of Citadel Security. Welcome.'

A long silence followed and Brasca frowned as Yaro's brow knotted in confusion.

'What's wrong?' the turian asked.

'It…' Yaro began uncertainly. 'It didn't talk last time.'

'What do you mean "it didn't talk last time"?' Brasca asked. 'You sure you didn't just have the thing on mute?'

Yaro flashed him an annoyed glare. 'What the hell kind of a question is that? Of course I didn't have the friggin' thing on mute!'

'So, what then?'

'The guy, my contact,' Yaro replied thoughtfully, clasping his chin between two bony fingers. 'He said it was barely even a VI. A bunch of algorithms stuffed into a basic interface, that's what he said. They don't usually include a vocal recognition system in that kind of thing.' He scratched his bulbous head. 'Maybe he just didn't know what he was handing over to me.'

'Or maybe you don't know him,' Brasca muttered.

'Now, now,' Yaro responded, turning to face him as he raised his hands defensively. 'Don't go soiling your scaly panties just yet. This is just unexpected, that's all. It's not like I've had time to check out every little nuance of the software. There's bound to be a ton of features we don't know about.'

Brasca looked him grimly. 'Then how does it know our names?'

That was one question Yaro could not answer and his pink tongue was bright against his lurid green skin as his mouth hung open, trying to find an answer.

The tense quiet was broken by the computer as it spoke to them in a deep, even tone.

'Facial scans and voice analogues match those held on file in Citadel Security personnel records. Movements and activities corroborated with internal C-Sec investigations. Several infractions against C-Sec regulations detected. Recent activity includes one assault in Zakera Market; security camera footage time dated thirty minutes ago.'

A cold sense of dread settled on Brasca and his face grew dark with fury.

'What the- This thing's spying on us!'

'Wait a sec,' Yaro said, holding up a hand to calm his partner before turning back to the computer. 'Let's not go overboard here. VI, you said you have access to C-Sec's internal networks. I take it you can get into the Citadel's security monitoring system, am I right in assuming that's the case?'

'That is correct, Officer Yaro.'

Brasca opened his mouth to object but Yaro silenced him with another firm gesture.

'Do you have the means to, say, alter those files? Perhaps if something had happened out in Zakera that we wouldn't want our esteemed colleagues in Investigation to get a hold of, and we wanted Officer Brasca to disappear from that footage? Would you be able to facilitate that request?'

Brasca saw his friend's intentions at last and his mandibles parted in a cautious grin as the computer confirmed.

'That is correct, Officer Yaro.'

'And,' Brasca said quickly, almost barging into Yaro in his eagerness, 'say I wanted to make some old spots on my conduct record disappear? Would you be able to do that?'

'Yes, Officer Brasca,' the computer replied. 'I have full access to all disciplinary records in C-Sec. In fact, the network Officer Yaro has linked me into allow me a degree of control over roughly twenty per cent of the Citadel's minor systems, focused primarily in the Presidium.'

The VI's words swam through Yaro's mind and he stared at it in numb disbelief. His lips quivered, on the edge of crying out in both joy and fear.

Brasca, however, had lost his initial enthusiasm and had resumed his sceptical appraisal.

'I don't like this,' he grumbled. 'I don't like it one bit. Access to C-Sec is one thing but the whole Presidium? Having something like this thing pokin' around in the Citadel's networks, we're just asking to get caught.'

'What?' his partner hissed as he stepped in front of Brasca hurriedly. 'Do you have any idea what this could mean for us? It means no more complaints, no more disciplinary hearings! It means we can operate without worrying about that security cam footage or that loose-lipped witness! Hell, with this VI on our side we can think big, maybe even look at hitting the Presidium's financial district! Tax records, investments, account details, the information alone would be worth a fortune!'

Brasca stared at him, unconvinced. 'This is over my head. It's over your head too. This thing is talking about stuff way bigger than the credit scam you're using it for and I don't trust it. Besides, someone's bound to notice an illegal VI snooping around the internal systems. It's only a matter of time and if we get caught then I think a life sentence’ll be too good for us.'

Yaro exhaled deeply. His turian friend had always lacked ambition and under normal circumstances it would be a blessing. He enjoyed being the one who called the shots and always had. Brasca had his uses and they complimented his own rather nicely.

This was something neither of them could have anticipated, however, and Yaro would be damned if he'd let a chance like this pass him by. Glancing at the computer once more, the salarian forced calm into his voice.

'VI, please assure my turian friend here that Special Response isn't going to come crashing through the door at any second.'

'Officer Brasca's fears are understandable but unfounded,' the VI responded plainly. 'I am unable to take action without a direct user request. To make conscious decisions of that nature is beyond the scope of my programming. Unless instructed otherwise, I will remain inactive and there will be no chance of detection.'

Brasca mulled over the answer before shaking his head and turning away.

'I still don't like any of this. I preferred it when it was just a case of sitting back and watching the credits flow into my account. All this talk of hacking into other systems, control over this and that, it just doesn't feel right.'

'I don't want a lecture on what feels right from the guy with human blood on his knuckles,' Yaro snapped.

Brasca glared at him accusingly, and a few strained moments passed before Yaro sighed deeply and ran his thin fingers across his face.

'Okay, I'll keep it small to start with, all right? No toying with the sensitive stuff until we know what this thing's really capable of.'

Yaro watched his partner's reaction carefully, though inwardly he seethed at having to make the concession. Still, he knew that he could not go ahead without Brasca. If anything, he owed the lout the benefit of the doubt with all they had been through together.

The turian rumbled a grudging reply from the depths of his throat. 'One week. If things go as smoothly as you and your shiny new friend here say, then we'll start branching out in a week.' He showed nothing of his anxiety as Yaro grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. 'So, until then I guess I'd better learn these checks of yours. Keep things ticking over, as you said.'

'That you do, my friend,' Yaro said, happily. 'That you do.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen flexed his fingers as he tried to work some feeling back into them. It was almost impossible to do through the plated gloves but he tried nonetheless, if only to pass the time.

The police shuttle was cramped for two people in full combat armour and Arlen had felt little else besides the warm pressure against his leg since Keller had climbed into the passenger seat next to him.

Ever since he noticed her body pressing subtly against his, he hadn’t been able to relax and he fidgeted constantly to try and distract himself from the contact.

The gash on his forehead was beginning to throb and burn as the adrenaline of the afternoon's events ebbed away. His muscles trembled and twitched, and he could not stop his hands from shaking. The more he tried to ignore it, the worse it all became and it was with overpowering gratitude that he brought up his omni-tool when it started to chime wildly.

'Incoming call from Lina,' Petra announced. 'Would you like to connect?'

The question was delivered in the clinical tone of a standard VI, and Arlen wondered if Petra was deliberately trying to be ironic.

He smiled and nodded. 'Yes please, Petra, patch her in.'

Arlen’s suit radio clicked softly as the connection was made and his omni-tool flared slightly, the device barely able to cope with the enormous strain of a live feed across such colossal distances.

'Arlen, it's me,' Lina said. She sounded almost as exhausted as he felt. 'I'm glad I could reach you. We've got something of a development for you.'

'What now?' he wondered aloud. 'Did the Citadel explode? Have the Council been eaten by klixen?'

Keller stifled a laugh and nudged him sharply. The young turian quickly came to his senses and cleared his throat, suddenly ashamed of the slip in discipline.

'Sorry, Lina, please go ahead.'

'A few minutes ago we received an encrypted transmission. The signal has already been traced to Noveria, though strangely the sender identified himself right away. It's Lorik Qi'in.'

Both Arlen and Keller frowned at the revelation. Of all the people who would try to contact him, Arlen assumed Lorik Qi'in would be the last.

'Is he on the line?' he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

'Yes, he says he wants to speak to you and you alone.' Lina took a deep, audible breath. 'We'll be listening in but try and keep him on our side. Seeing as how he’s come to us, the likelihood is he wants to cut a deal. Humour him as best you can to get what we need and we'll worry about the details later. Krassus comes first.'

'Understood,' Arlen confirmed. 'Patch him through.'

The radio hissed for a moment and Arlen spoke again, wincing as his cuts stretched painfully.

'Lorik Qi'in?'

His only answer was silence and for a moment Arlen feared that he had lost the connection. Only the steady display on his omni-tool assured him otherwise and he spoke again, doing his best to keep the anxiety from his voice.

'Lorik Qi'in, are you there?'

'My apologies,' a warm, rich turian voice finally replied. 'No disrespect intended, Agent Kryik but you caught me off-guard. I was expecting someone a little older.'

Keller fought back an amused grin as she watched Arlen's neck pulse gently in irritation.

He caught the expression and fought to hold off his resentment.

'None taken,' he said brusquely. 'What do you want, Lorik? I assume you wanted to speak me for a reason?'

The older turian chuckled. It was a deep clicking sound over Arlen’s suit speakers and he could only narrow his eyes in dislike at it.

'I heard about the Legion's attack on the Jamestown. A despicable act, to be sure, and as news started to filter in of a war on the streets of Nos Astra I assumed my old friend Coleran Vastra would be involved. From what I understand of the situation, you were planning to find me anyway so I've decided to make things a little easier for the both of us. You're coming to Noveria, is that right?'

'That was the plan.'

Qi'in grunted in satisfaction. 'Good. I will meet with you as soon as you arrive. We have much to discuss. One condition, however; you must come alone. I have a lot to offer you and C-sec, but it will be on my terms. All I ask is immunity from prosecution, and that you bring no others with you. We can settle this like civilised men, without the need for…undignified scenes.'

Arlen closed his eyes. Immunity from prosecution? Could he even promise such a thing? Was it even possible? He remembered Lina's words and forced as much truth into his voice as he could.

'All right. I think that can be arranged. I must ask for one thing myself, however.' A few seconds of expectant silence passed and his heart pounded as he pushed his luck. 'Allow me to bring one companion. I've had too many people try and kill me over the past few days to wager my safety on your word alone.'

The hum of the shuttle engines intruded as the seconds stretched out.

Qi'in could be heard breathing slowly, turning the proposal over in his mind and Arlen's teeth clenched nervously at the thought that he had asked too much.

He glanced at Keller, not needing to tell her that he wanted her to come along. She smiled at him in response, her eyes bright in the darkened shuttle.

'Understandable,' Qi'in finally replied, 'though I will only discuss our business with you alone. I won't have our little meeting become a…Mexican stand-up?'

'Stand- _off_ ,' Keller corrected.

Qi'in chuckled. 'Ah, so this is her? Well, young lady, thank you for the clarification. I think you'll find Port Hanshan to be a comfortable place to stay. With our somewhat hefty security presence, I daresay neither of you will have to worry about any more heavily armed intruders making a nuisance of themselves.'

Arlen stiffened, his suspicions raised. 'You know what happened here on Illium?'

'Of course,' Qi'in responded casually. 'Noveria and Illium are bound in more ways than you can imagine, Agent. I could name twenty major companies who have immense holdings on both worlds, holdings that generate far more capital than the Council's financial authorities realise. If something untoward should happen on one world, for example, a panic-inducing information warfare attack, then the other gets very nervous indeed.'

Arlen wanted to shake his head. He had considered himself at the very edge of the intelligence web, skirting the crest of the wave and reacting faster than anyone else around him. He could only wonder if Qi'in actually knew more about what had happened in Nos Astra than he did.

'Still,' he said, 'I'm surprised how well-informed you are.'

He could almost hear Qi'in shrug. 'It's just a part of the game, my young friend. War, corporate politics, the game is the same. The only thing that changes are the players.'

Arlen sniffed his disdain for the idea. He had already decided he did not like the man who spoke so smoothly, his every word pouring from his lips with well-practised ease. He recalled how Vastra had spoken of Qi'in, that his charisma had pulled many to the Legion's cause during the Exodus and the Interceptor was determined not to allow himself to be swayed so easily.

'How will I find you?' he asked, eager to move the conversation on.

'The companies here take security very seriously. Even though you and your friend are C-Sec officers, Noveria doesn't answer to Citadel law and everyone is keen to protect their dirty little secrets. I'll receive word of your arrival as soon as you touch down and meet you at the hotel bar. You'll find it easily enough; there's only one hotel in Port Hanshan.'

'How exactly will you know I've arrived?' Arlen asked.

'Well, that brings me on to my other request,' Qi'in replied. 'I've arranged transport for you aboard a corporate vessel. It's a chartered flight, private with a full extranet suite and mini-bar, no expenses spared. It's waiting for you at terminal seven of Nos Astra Spaceport.'

The request sent another shudder of trepidation through Arlen. 'Why would I want to do that? One word from you and I'd be sent on a trip to the edge of galaxy. Or worse.'

'Agent Kryik,' Qi'in sighed, 'if I wanted you dead I'd hardly broadcast my intentions now, would I? If you must know, I am not entirely popular with Hanshan's current administrator. If he gets wind that I have invited Citadel Security to Noveria he may start asking uncomfortable questions. I suggest you enjoy the flight. It's a craft used by Synthetic Insights' more esteemed executives and you should find it very comfortable. There is also a change of clothes to make your visit seem less like a police raid.'

'A cover identity?' Arlen asked, jumping on the clue. 'You want us to pose as executives to avoid raising suspicion with the administrator?'

'At last the penny bounces,' Qi'in responded smugly. 'Don't worry, Agent, I would hardly be the businessman I am today if I didn't keep my promises. Your trip will be more than worth the trouble, I assure you.'

A soft pop signified the end of the exchange and Arlen's radio filled with the hiss of static. He looked at Keller uneasily.

'Do we trust him?'

The detective shrugged. 'I don't think we have much of a choice. The man's not an idiot and I think if you tried to simply storm onto Noveria he'd be able to throw up more than enough bureaucratic barriers to delay us while he makes an escape.'

'Maybe,' Arlen said irritably. He leaned forward, folding his arms across his knees. 'I just have a bad feeling about this.'

Keller grinned playfully and nudged him with an elbow. 'Hey, can you honestly say you've had a good feeling about any of this so far?'

The comment brought a smile to Arlen's lips and he shook his head.

'Point taken, Detective.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

As the sun disappeared over the Nos Astra skyline a new daylight emerged as the entire city lit up. Countless lights, from clubs to offices to homes, illuminated the night in a sea of flickering stars that proved more than a match for their heavenly counterparts. 

Jacob shuffled through the streets, exhausted, and the pedestrians instinctively skirted around the human who stared ahead, despondent and taciturn.

Around him, the night was ablaze with the red and blue flashes of police shuttles as dozens of officers arrived to restore order to that part of town.

The damage had already been done. The strange electronic disturbance that had taken place during the attack on Vastra's apartment had knocked out power, causing a staggering number of shuttle crashes and leaving thousands of people without extranet access.

Jacob wanted to shake his head. This had been the last thing he’d expected to see since leaving the Citadel.

'Thank God!' he heard someone cry out and he lifted his head.

It was Winterbourne, standing with the rest of the Corsairs who now regarded him with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

Dukov's arms were folded, his expression unreadable.

Chen, however, smiled warmly at the sight of him. 'Thought we'd lost you back there! What the hell happened?'

'That's what I'd like to know,' Weiss added sharply.

It took several moments for Jacob to answer, both to assemble the fractured memories in his mind and then to convey them in a manner that sounded the least bit plausible. He knew how ridiculous the truth would sound.

'I managed to reach Vastra's building,' he said carefully, watching each of their reactions. 'Somebody beat me to it, though. That competition you were worried about,' he directed at Dukov, who stared back impassively, 'the Interceptor - he got to Vastra before I could. Vastra himself was killed in the attack.'

Miller grunted. He was at the back of the group but his enormous frame towered over his peers with ease, allowing him to be heard.

'Who was it? Who attacked, I mean. We were all at least half a block away when the whole thing began and by the time we arrived, the entire street had been barricaded. Sounded like a hell of a fight, though.'

Jacob's eyes turned to the ground. 'They wore Alliance gear but no way were they Marines. Everything about 'em seemed wrong, the way they talked, the way they carried themselves. I don't know who they were but I know one thing - every one of them was human.'

'Shit, this can't be good,' Weiss muttered under her breath. 'With tensions as they are, a full-scale attack by an all-human group will only mean trouble.'

'It's almost as bad as if we were caught ourselves,' Chen pointed out grimly.

His words brought a new silence to the team as they digested their situation. The attack had rendered their careful preparation and secrecy completely moot. The very reason the Corsairs had been sent was to ensure Vastra's capture could not be traced back to humanity, and in particular the Alliance. Now, it seemed, their efforts had been wasted.

'Not only that,' Miller growled, 'but who else knew about Vastra? From what I understood, we were the only ones with that intel. How the hell did C-Sec get there first?'

It was a fair question, to which no one had an answer. Jacob had expressed his worries back on the Citadel that something or someone else was at work, that their mission was not all it seemed. Now those same doubts returned to infect them all.

Winterbourne stirred, catching Jacob's eye. He was glad to see she had survived and he managed the briefest of smiles before Hammond brought a weary hand to his head.

'So that's it?' he said, plaintively. 'We're done? Mission scrubbed?'

'No,' Jacob replied.

He brought up his omni-tool and entered a few commands. In moments, a bright yellow spot appeared on the display, surrounded with constantly shifting numbers and letters.

'What's that?' asked Winterbourne.

'A tracking signal. I managed to plant it on the Interceptor before he left the scene.'

He remembered how difficult it had been to find the right moment, though it had only needed a slight of hand to plant the tracking chip on the turian's armour suit as his legs buckled and Jacob helped him to his feet.

Jacob nodded to his omni-tool. 'If Vastra told him where Krassus is hiding then the Interceptor should lead us right to him.'

'How do you know that?' Weiss snapped.

Jacob looked at the warrant officer coolly. 'Just a hunch, ma'am. I don't think he's the type to give up so easily.'

Finally, Dukov broke his stillness. He smiled and stepped forward to place a grateful hand on Jacob's shoulder.

'Good work, Taylor,' he said. 'Because of you we may still have a chance to pull this off.' He turned to the rest of his squad. 'We'll head back to the Razor. Wherever this Interceptor goes, we'll be right on his tail. Nobody will beat us to the punch again, I promise you that.'

The group murmured their assent and fell out, each to make their way separately back to the docks.

Jacob paused for a moment and looked to his left, where the pedestrian path dropped away suddenly to an ocean of lights and crawling rivers of traffic. As the cold breeze worked its way beneath his skin, he could not help but wonder if he'd made the right decision in letting the turian go.

The city moved on around him, uncaring.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'You're certain the reports are accurate?' Chellick murmured as he stood hunched over Lina's desk, poring over the pictures and text scrolling across her screen.

The quarian struggled to hear him over the rising noise of command centre but she caught just enough to nod vigorously.

'Captain Anaya has already begun transferring images of the dead and captured mercenaries and fortunately, most of them are already on record.'

Milo leaned in, brushing against Lorica, who simply stared without a word.

'Damn, these guys have rap sheets a mile long,' the human remarked, scratching his unshaven jaw. 'Slavery, extortion, kidnapping. I can't see a law they haven't broken.'

'So,' Chellick began, easing himself upright, 'we're looking at a motley gang of mercenaries, thugs and criminals. No links to the Legion?'

'The Legion wouldn't work with humans,' Lina answered as she tapped at her keypad. 'Even if they made an exception this once, what would they have to gain from all this chaos? Hiring humans, releasing the Jamestown Virus and attacking a city's police force on their home ground; only one of those things fits the Legion's profile so far. The question is, if the Legion didn't hire them, who did?'

'Then there's the matter of Lorik Qi'in,' Chellick added. 'What do we know about him?'

A new set of files appeared on Lina's computer and she waved them away with a quick gesture. Instantly, they appeared on the command centre's main display for all to see.

'These are the turian military's files on Lorik Qi'in,' she began. 'Service record isn't exactly exemplary. Solid enough under fire but his peacetime activities included gambling circles, drinking violations, even a charge of selling on medical supplies. The charges never came to anything, however, likely because of how close he was to Krassus. Despite all this, he was well-liked by peers and subordinates alike.'

'Then came the Exodus?' Milo asked, and Lina responded with a firm nod.

'Then came the Exodus. He separated himself from the main group of Krassus, Varn and Vastra, and found himself employment with Synthetic Insights as a sales rep. In just a few short years he'd made quite the impression and his rise through the ranks seemed to be just as smooth as when he was in the military.'

Chellick stared at the image of the dark-hued turian on the central screen. Qi'in's skin faded to a pale grey around his nose and lips, and straight white lines were painted across his features, spreading out from the centre. It was an odd colony marking that Chellick could not recall having seen before.

He spoke again, loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. 'So, he finds work with Synthetic Insights, ships what useful tech he can out to the Legion and eventually stumbles across their greatest weapon yet - the Jamestown Virus. Now we're on their trail, he contacts us to cut a deal. Sounds like a simple case of a cornered varren trying to save his skin to me.'

'That's certainly the way it looks,' Lina agreed, 'though there's still something that bothers me; the recordings we took from Arlen of his meeting with Vastra. He mentioned something called the 'Fusion Directives'.'

'It must have something to do with the virus,' Milo ventured. 'I mean, you said yourself that it's only been used in its infancy stage so far. If Petra is potentially the end result, could the Fusion Directives have something to do with what comes in between? A trigger, maybe?'

Lina shook her head. 'I don't recall Petra mentioning them when I questioned her yesterday. I suppose anything is possible at this point.'

Chellick placed his hands behind his back and strode up the main dais to dominate the room.

'Lorik Qi'in should be able to fill in these holes,' he said. 'Until then, Lina, I want you to assign staff to carry on with the virus research and continue digging up what you can on Qi'in. If there's anything we can use against him I want to know. We'll also need to have his immunity sanctioned by the executor, perhaps even the Council. Keep moving, people.'

The command centre exploded into activity once more, their energy renewed.

Lina snapped orders to Milo and Lorica before turning to several others, sending them away with clear, precise instructions. She turned her head and, seeing Chellick stride down the dais ramp in the direction of his office, broke into a run to intercept him.

'Chellick!' she called out, sliding roughly past a colleague as she tried to increase her pace. 'Chellick, hold on!'

The turian halted abruptly with his back to her. 'What is it, Lina? You have your orders.'

Something in his tone gave Lina pause and the quarian hesitated. The question was fair but his voice held a quiet snap of anger, as if she were interrupting something very important.

Quickly, she pushed the concern aside, putting it down to simple stress.

'Chellick, I'm going to need a couple more staff on my team. I don't have enough people to cover everything and we still don't have all the facts on the Nos Astra attack. If we get any vital intel through I'm afraid we won't be able to analyse it quickly enough.'

Chellick appeared to take a deep breath, his armour heaving with the movement.

'I don't have anyone to spare. You'll have to make do with what you have.'

'What about Garrus?' Lina pressed. 'He's unassigned and I haven't seen-'

'That's out of the question,' Chellick answered immediately, the speed and ferocity of his reply surprising her.

The commander turned around then, eyeing Lina with a mistrust that almost shocked her.

'Garrus is…preoccupied right now. His work might be more important than anything we've seen yet.'

Lina found such a thing hard to believe and she narrowed her eyes at her superior. She knew Garrus had been forced away from the team, though she’d assumed it was because of the rumours that had dogged him since the death of their asari witness several days ago. She did not believe them, of course, but it was odd that Chellick still insisted on keeping Garrus close at hand regardless.

'If you say so,' she finally replied.

It was difficult to ignore the chill that had suddenly come into her blood but she tried not to let it show.

Seemingly satisfied, Chellick nodded and his apprehensive manner vanished. 'You're a resourceful woman, Lina. You'll make the most of what you have, as always. Remember to keep tabs on Arlen and Keller at all times. I doubt they'll have much in the way of support, should something happen to them out there on Noveria.'

That was something of which Lina did not need to be reminded and she watched Chellick stalk away, his movements stiff with tension. She stared at him for a few long moments, unable to place exactly why she felt so uneasy.

Eventually the command centre's energy intruded once more and she busied herself with her work, eager to dispel the strange mood that had come over her.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Garrus tried to slow his breathing, as if it was no different than firing his rifle practice at the ranges.

He tried to imagine the red shuttle in front of him as a target, nothing more, something cold and lifeless that he could take down with barely a thought.

The thought did not give him the calm he desired, and he set his jaw as the asari councillor's shuttle picked up speed once more.

Garrus had picked his moment well. The Presidium was easing into its night cycle once again, bringing about the almost mechanical routines of its inhabitants. The rich and the important began to filter from their places of work and trickle home or out to the Wards in search of a night's entertainment. The traffic lines had grown thick as a result and thousands of shuttles now clogged the lanes, swelling them like bulbous veins of shining metal and glass.

He did not expect the councillor to visit anywhere but her own home, which itself was also housed within Citadel Tower. It was a surprise, then, to see her leaving as he’d arrived, hurrying to a private shuttle without pause.

Garrus thought she would have allowed for a compliment of bodyguards, considering both her importance and the events of the past week, but he did not see any as he was forced to follow.

Her behaviour was strange, and Garrus' grip tightened on the shuttle's flight stick as he thought it over.

He was well-used to tailing suspects and observing them from afar, and something about the councillor's unpredictable movements raised cold bumps across his skin. He still didn’t believe she could be directly involved in the crisis but then he had also believed Chellick to be altruistic at one point.

One thing Garrus had come to understand was how easily people could make a mockery of one's own preconceptions.

Blinking, Garrus inhaled sharply as the councillor’s shuttle swerved away from the traffic lanes and he jerked on the controls, taking care to maintain a short distance between them. His own craft shuddered in response and the nose of the blue C-Sec vehicle eased down, dipping towards the white, sloping landscape below.

'Warning,' the shuttle's VI droned around him. 'Speed exceeding recommended safety levels. Please reduce.'

'Shut up,' Garrus muttered, stabbing a finger at the VI's volume control. He’d been piloting these patrol crafts far too long to be chastised by a machine.

It did not take much longer for the councillor to reach her destination. The traffic thinned out as they skimmed close to the ground, and Garrus recognised the parks and waterfalls of the residential district. Around him, thousands of small homes lay in pale shelves that ran across the curve of the Presidium's outer edge.

Her shuttle slowed to a crawl and turned left to disappear between one of the shelves, vanishing into the darkened gap. Only the red glow of the tail lights marked it out, and it was on those Garrus focused until his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom.

'What's going on?' he mumbled to himself.

They had entered a parking area for the local residential block. The shuttle came to a halt and lowered softly to the ground, and Garrus saw Tevos climb from the driver's seat with unfaltering grace before smoothing out her dress with a few short strokes.

Garrus set his own shuttle down a respectable distance away, moving in slowly so as not to attract attention. He climbed out and was forced into a run as he saw the councillor exit through a lit doorway at the far end of the area.

He increased his pace as she disappeared from view, his head snapping from side to side instinctively as he went. He wanted to tell himself that there was no chance of a trap but he could take no chances, and he bounded with the watchful gait of a predator to the far door.

Garrus remembered this part of the Presidium well from his early days on the force. There were always noise complaints, domestic disturbances or the odd assault to investigate but it was nothing compared to the crushing workload of the Wards.

Nevertheless, the area was deemed important enough to have C-Sec maintain steady patrols to discourage potential criminals and Garrus was wary as he made his way through a stark white corridor.

It led out onto a vast, sweeping mezzanine that overlooked a public garden. The fresh, sweet scent of flowers filled Garrus’ nostrils and a multitude of birds called from the trees below.

The lively greens and blues of the grass and lakes shimmered against the clean lines of the buildings beyond, though Garrus paid no heed to the view. All of his attention was focused on the councillor, who strode purposefully across the deserted balcony ahead.

For a moment, Garrus considered that his job would be much easier if Tevos was actually involved in something unsavoury. He had given little thought as to how to accomplish the task Chellick had set him, pushing his fear and doubt into a hard knot in his stomach until he thought he could not feel it any more.

If the councillor actually gave him an excuse to arrest her then it would all be so much easier.

Garrus winced. The thought was still not a pleasant one. He longed to end it all and considered simply walking away. He could turn himself in to the executor and face his punishment, or even run to Omega like he had often thought about, free to redeem himself in the spilling of criminal blood.

Gently, he shook his head free of the fantasy. He still had some good to do and the councillor had piqued his interest already with her unusual behaviour.

He watched as she entered an apartment further down and followed, slowing his movements to a gentle stroll, as if he were simply another C-Sec officer on patrol.

It was only when he neared the apartment that his nose-slits pressed together, the warm tang of incense creeping into them and seeping into his senses. There was something nostalgic in the pungent smell and he tensed at the sound of voices coming from within.

He crept closer, his movements cautious. More voices came from the apartment and as he neared the door he saw that it was open. A single piece of blue silk hung above the frame and he could now clearly hear the soft sounds of weeping.

The incense worked its way further into Garrus' consciousness. It made his thoughts swim and his limbs move, seemingly of their own free will.

He wandered into the apartment without a care for the consequences.

The halls were narrow but clean, the architecture a blend of gleaming white panels and creamy arches, laced with the familiar amber haptic panels that defined Citadel architecture.

There were many asari there, Garrus observed, most of them clad in loose robes of clear white. Some were crying, and the others looked to them and laid reassuring hands on their shoulders. A faint, airy tune entered his ears, its notes mournful.

Garrus' footfalls were heavy clunks that jarred with the softer noises around him, and a few of the asari looked up at his intrusion. No one objected to his presence however, and after only a moment they returned to their conversations without a second glance.

He made his way through the congregation without a word. The scene was surreal to him, a blend of sound and smell, all with an undertone of sadness that was impossible to define.

Eventually he came across a wide, open chamber that lay open to the Presidium outside. A small gathering of asari stood there, their curved heads bowed in respectful silence. Before them stood Councillor Tevos, distinct in her formal, red-patched Council attire.

She stood with her back to the group and Garrus' mouth dropped open as he saw what was happening.

Laid out before the councillor, wreathed in flawless white cloth, I'Lyana Naris' body glowed in the Presidium’s pearly light.

A spike of grief ran through Garrus, a pain worse than any he had known.

This was the young woman's funeral, he realised, and suddenly he felt the weight of his shame crashing back down upon him.

Tevos caressed I'Layna's face tenderly and murmured a few gentle words to her. She then turned to face the congregation, a single silvery tear working its way down her cheek. Still, her voice was strong as she addressed them.

'Today we send this maiden into the embrace of the Goddess. Her spirit will leave this world and travel peacefully into Athame's arms, forever content, and where she will know no pain or sadness. The grace of the Goddess is infinite, and so must be our patience. Do not mourn this young one, for she is now beyond all the hardships we, ourselves, must continue to endure.'

'By the grace of the Goddess,' the group chanted as one.

The councillor looked up and her gaze became distant with memory.

'I'Layna was a gentle soul. She became my assistant many years ago and not once did she complain about her duties or commit any less than all of herself to a task. But it was her compassionate nature that truly outshone all else. She would always ask how I was feeling, or take pains to make my life easier, no matter how busy we were or how impatient I became at times. She was…a gift…to all of us.'

Garrus stared numbly at them all. Ahead and to his left, a matron trembled visibly and a companion quickly laid a comforting arm around her before she could break into a sobbing fit.

The woman could only have been I'Layna's mother and Garrus felt a sharp stab of disgust in his chest. He felt as if his very presence was poison in the air.

'It is a testament to the love for this young maiden,' the councillor continued, 'that so many have come to see her into the Goddess' arms. Though I see many siarists here today, I also see a great number of other faiths and cultures represented. I believe I'Layna would be proud to see her friends and family united in their beliefs, if only for one day. It was that idea of unification that spurred her to seek a life here on the Citadel, and in the Presidium. We will all miss her and honour her memory every day.'

With that, Councillor Tevos turned back to I'Layna and carefully pulled the cloth over her face. The act brought an image to Garrus' mind of just days before, as the hospital staff pulled a sheet over the asari's bloody, bruised face.

He did not hear the councillor's final words as he retreated into memory and the blood in his veins ran cold.

The ceremony was short and after the councillor had finished she mingled with those gathered in the room. The numbers had swelled during the service, so that they pressed around Garrus closely and the words of dozens of discussions merged into one.

He stood mutely, not daring to either speak or walk away.

Tevos approached him in time, and Garrus could only bow his head in humility as she drew near.

'Officer,' she said softly. 'I did not expect a C-Sec presence here of all places, or did you come for the service? Did you know I'Layna?'

The question stung Garrus and the asari tilted her head curiously at his expression.

'Is something wrong?'

Garrus took in a deep breath.

'Ma'am, I know this isn't the best time but I need to speak with you. In private.'


	26. Chapter 26

 

Arlen gasped as he lowered himself into the water. Steam curled around him in pale wisps and the soot, blood and filth leeched from him onto the water's surface in dark rivers. 

He winced as his backside touched the bottom of the bath, forcing him to ease himself slowly backwards. The water was as hot as he could possibly stand it and he resisted the urge to thrash against the prickling itches that started up his spine.

Finally, he relaxed completely and let out a sigh of ecstasy as the water immersed every muscle in his body. He closed his eyes and relished the sensation, taking deep breaths of the heavily scented air and letting the heat take away the stress and agony of the past few days.

A part of him reviled the idea of bathing in asari oils but as he gradually felt every ache and pain grow distant, he was glad that particular decision had been taken out of his hands.

Again he sighed and a small laugh of disbelief escaped his lips.

Lorik Qi'in's promise of a luxury transport had not been an idle one. The journey would take several hours and it was clear the man did not want a battered and bloody young turian staggering through Port Hanshan, raising eyebrows wherever he went.

As such, no expense had been spared to make Arlen appear more presentable. A fresh business suit of charcoal-grey had been laid out for him, a touch too large but there was no help for that.

The ship was staffed with an experienced all-asari crew from Illium, each one seemingly picked for her beauty as well as her skills, which ranged from massage to music. They had cheerfully greeted him as one in the Nos Astra spaceport, six in all from pilot to chef; more than enough crew for a ship of that size.

For a moment Arlen recalled Keller's expression upon seeing them. He had returned their introductions with a polite nod but the detective had rolled her eyes, storming on board without a word. He grinned at the memory. One of the assistants, a doe-eyed maiden, had insisted on accompanying him to help him scrub the filth from his body but he had respectfully declined, his skin hot with embarrassment.

The young turian took a deep breath and allowed his head to sink below the water's surface. The medigel that covered the gash across his forehead had hardened into a thick, translucent skin that would knit the damaged flesh together in time. It seeped gently into the rippling water, creating an oily film while the wound throbbed with a dull, pulsing ache.

With another loud gasp, he raised himself up once more. Water dripped from his eye sockets and he stared past the trickling drops, his gaze becoming distant as he leaned back to let the points of his dark fringe jut over the lip of the bath. He did not move as thoughts turned silently in his head.

So much had happened in a short time. Crixus, Olansi, Vastra. He cast his mind back to the Citadel, to his first meeting with Garrus. It now seemed like a whole other lifetime.

He remembered how Garrus had offered him a pistol before asking Arlen to shoot him dead with it. The Interceptor now cringed at his own naivety. Of course Garrus wouldn't have asked him to shoot if the weapon was functional. He had baited Arlen perfectly and he’d fallen into the trap. Would Arlen have done the same thing now if asked?

Sniffing, he brought up his hands, throwing a splash of water over his face before rubbing it roughly.

No. If Garrus asked him to do anything of the sort now, he'd likely knock the man out first, or roughly disarm him and ensure he’d be no to danger anyone, including himself. Experience was often the crucial factor between a good decision and a bad one.

Arlen's eyes flickered down to the water thoughtfully. His reflection was dull and broken, but he could still make out the ugly scar running across his brow, as well as the eyes beneath it. They were harder now, if only a little, but altogether he barely recognised himself.

If experience alone could change a man so drastically, Arlen supposed he had learned a hell of a lot over the past few days.

A gentle sloshing filled the air as the bathwater was recycled. Arlen felt a pleasurable vibration and a low hum, and watched as the filthy water around him lightened and eventually cleared. A fresh injection of oil was added and his senses swam with the aroma of sweet flowers and unfamiliar fruits.

It was a luxury that any good, proud turian should scorn but for the third time in as many minutes, Arlen sighed gratefully. Despite his mistrust of Qi’in, he was more thankful for the man’s hospitality.

Turning his head, Arlen cast a glance over his armour. The suit had been cleaned and was neatly stacked to one side, though it was permanently scuffed and blackened in places, and pock-marked with muddy burns. There was nothing his asari hosts could do about those.

Each scar told a story. The scratches on the back were made when Crixus had thrown him into a set of loose shelving in that tiny maintenance room. The kneepads were pitted from when he had lain in hiding with Olansi on an Omega street as the a Blood Pack militia roiled past them. He even spotted dark brown spatters of batarian blood, now nothing more than a subtle stain on his chest guard.

The most recent marks were the burns on the right pauldron, a black welt that reached up to the collar. It could only have been the explosion that killed Vastra.

Arlen's mind recoiled from that memory. So much of it had seemed like little more than a dream after the blast. He remembered fighting the soldiers, though his actions had been little more than reflex, with no thought attached to them.

He saw Keller again as she dragged him from darkness, her blue eyes staring into his as she tried to keep him conscious.

Keller.

The thought of the human sent Arlen’s stomach into a twisting spasm and he frowned gently at his own reaction.

Did he always get like this when he thought of her? He was certain he didn’t feel this way when they’d first met, though their introduction had been unusual, to say the least. They had barely gotten to know one another before events had carried them along with a strength they could not resist.

He wanted to shrug indifferently. He did not even know how he felt, let alone how long he'd felt it. It was true he had not met many aliens before coming to the Citadel but the salarians, asari, not even Lina had made him so nervous. No, it was not even nerves, but it was _something!_

Arlen cursed aloud and slapped the water with a palm, furious with his wandering thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to adopt his old parade-ground calm, to slip into the frame of mind that would let him carry out any task with a bare minimum of thought.

He grew still for a moment, just to try it but Keller's sly grin worked its way back before his eyes. Her blonde hair fell in a golden curtain across her light brown skin and she scolded him playfully for being so bashful.

Arlen's eyes grew wide in their sockets and the water around him reached over the edge of the bath as he sat up suddenly.

He couldn’t understand why he only thought of her. Grinding his teeth, he silently resolved to speak with her soon on the matter. The last thing he needed was to be distracted from the mission.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Chellick sniffed the air. He almost grimaced at the heady stench of smoke and sweat but he could expect little more from Chora's Den. 

The club stood before him, the thudding bass of the music within working its way mercilessly into his ears. Above the door, a holographic asari reclined sensually, offering passers-by a glimpse of the flesh they could see inside.

He jerked the collar of his suit up to partially cover his mandibles. It had taken only a few minutes to scrub the paint from his skin and darken his complexion with a grimy powder, just enough to render him unrecognisable in the dingy little club.

He had never entered the place without an alias before but he couldn’t be too careful. Though he was safe enough from harm, the last thing he wanted was to show his real face.

Even the brown-trimmed suit he wore had been purchased just a half hour before from a volus in the markets. It was awkward for a turian to change clothes quickly but the pressure was enough for him to manage the task in a red-lit alley just around the corner.

He spared a thought for his armour as it lay concealed behind a stack of crates at the alley's edge. If it was discovered then things would be difficult.

Frowning, Chellick pushed such small worries to the back of his mind. The men he was about to meet would have little patience for a jittery coward.

Sucking in a deep, calming breath, he started forward. His footfalls were heavy clunks that struck the ground in time with the beat coming from the club. The front door opened with a hiss and the smell almost overpowered him; stale body odour and the unmistakable reek of sweet, cheap liquor.

The main room was circular and garishly-lit, with a bar in the centre that faced outwards in every direction. A turian and salarian served the drinks, their chatter loud as above them, several asari weaved their hips in a mesmerizing pattern that enraptured the onlookers below.

Chellick ignored them all and pushed through the loose crowd of patrons, forcing a path around the outer edge of the room. Tables lined the curved wall and he could tell from a mere glance they were all occupied, the seats filled by men who hugged their drinks close to their bodies and glowered darkly at him as he passed.

Behind them, on platforms set into the wall more dancers swayed and flexed in time with the music, and chairs had been set out deliberately close by, offering a more personal experience to those who could pay a little extra.

Towards the back of the club, Chellick found what he was looking for.

Three men sat huddled around a table, each nursing a glass of liquid that glowed icy blue. They eyed him suspiciously as he approached and he returned their glare, keeping his eyes fixed upon them as he wound his way through the mass of clubbers.

He kept his movements steady. These people would be wary of sudden moves and might react violently if carelessly provoked. He neared the table and kept his hands turned out, his palms slightly outstretched to show he was not carrying a weapon.

The leader of the bunch, a human with long, greasy hair that hung over his face in loose tendrils looked him over calmly. To his left, the huge bulk of a krogan shifted with barely-restrained aggression while to the right a turian leaned back in his seat, his mandibles moving as he chewed on something.

All three exuded quiet danger and it was only then Chellick noticed how everyone in the club kept a respectable distance from that particular table.

'Y'all are late,' the human stated bluntly. His voice was harsh and his reddish-brown eyes were bright with malice.

Chellick shrugged dismissively. 'You know how hard it is to get away unnoticed in my job, Walker. Let's not pretend you had anything better to do this evening.'

Walker grinned, showing crooked teeth stained by years of hallex and red sand abuse. His skin was slick and foul with sweat after hours spent in the thick heat and it glistened as he spoke again.

'Can't argue with you there, my friend. Take a seat.'

Chellick obliged and lowered himself into the only available chair, taking care to keep his hands visible as he shuffled into a comfortable position. He laid them on the table casually and leaned forward so he didn’t have to raise his voice.

'How's business? I heard things haven't been running smoothly since C-Sec started putting pressure on Fist.'

Walker looked at him sourly. 'Y'all got some nerve askin' that. Damn right things ain't been goin' smoothly, no thanks to you. Fist's been too scared to leave his office. As if your raids on his suppliers weren't bad enough, there's rumours that a bounty's been put on his head.'

Chellick pressed in closer. 'A bounty? What for?'

'Not sure, exactly,' Walker replied with a shrug. 'He works for the Shadow Broker, so could be anybody lookin' to get to the big man through Fist. Hell, might even be the Broker himself. Lord knows he ain't above removin' those who piss him off; and he's a real easy man to piss off.'

Chellick nodded absently. The news was not particularly interesting but it reminded him there was still a galaxy out there, an existence untouched by the Legion crisis. It was all too easy to forget such things.

The noise in the club swelled and ebbed around him and he noticed smoke hanging in a thick veil above his head, clinging to the ceiling as if trying to escape.

'So,' he said, 'I take it you and your associates here are available for a small task in the near future?'

'Depends on the job,' Walker said, sniffing. 'There's too much heat right now from your boys to risk anything too high-profile. I did five years in a turian prison already. I ain't ever goin' back and I think my buddies here'd agree with me on that.'

The turian at Walker's side nodded slowly. His eyes were bright and yellow against black skin, white paint framing his jaw with sharp, jagged teeth.

They were the markings of an assassin but Chellick took what confidence he could from his unique position. He knew far more about these people than they could imagine, and the leverage he held was more than enough to coerce them into a willing partnership.

He glanced over his shoulder before going on. 'You're aware of the attack on the human passenger ship, the Jamestown, a few days ago?'

'Who hasn't?'

'What exactly do you know?'

Walker hefted his shoulders apathetically. 'Not much. The media ain't gone into much detail yet. They said it looked like some ‘kinda accident but from what I heard, a few people saw Citadel Fleet ships firing on it just before it exploded.'

'People say a lot of things.'

'They sure do,' Walker said with a grin. 'Lot ‘a angry humans out there friend, humans who say the turians murdered them people in cold blood. But what I wanna know is, why ask me?'

Chellick stared at him and spoke carefully. 'I'm involved with the investigation into the incident. Things are progressing but I'm facing…complications. Someone is making things a little more difficult for me than I'd like.'

Walker's grin widened. 'I see. You want them out of the picture, is that it?'

'No,' Chellick answered firmly. 'The death of this individual would mean far-reaching repercussions. There'd be enquiries, arrests. It could even push an already sensitive situation into open war. At the very least it would jeopardise my investigation. A message would be far more effective.'

The filthy human in front of him bared his blackened gums and looked from side to side at his smirking comrades before turning back to Chellick.

'Messages don't come cheap these days.'

Slowly, Chellick manoeuvred a hand in towards his suit and took from his pocket a small datapad. He thumbed it on and stared for a moment at the orange display before placing it on the table and sliding it over to Walker.

The human picked it up and, after a moment of reading, grinned maliciously. 'Man, this guy must've really pissed you off somethin' fierce for you to throw away that many credits. You sure you don't want him gone?'

Chellick stood, the back of his legs pushing away his chair with a loud scrape.

'As much as I'd love to say yes, I have to decline the offer. As you can see, there's enough there to make yourself available for the next few days. Wait for my call. If I need you, I'll provide you with the name and location of your target. If not, then it'll be the easiest money you've ever made.'

Walker laughed aloud and his companions echoed him, the sound filling their corner of the club.

'I don't get you, Chellick. Money for nothin'? Now you really piqued my curiosity. Why the hell go to all this trouble for one guy?'

It was Chellick's turn to smile. When he did, the sight of it slowly drained the amusement from Walkers face.

'It's a matter of galactic security,' the turian said before turning away and making his way back through the crowd. In only an instant he was lost to sight.

Walker cradled his chin in his hand and scratched idly at the whiskers that lined it. The krogan beside him stirred and spoke, his voice a rumble that shook Walker's chair.

'Do you trust him?'

'Ol' Chellick ain't done wrong by me yet,' Walker responded distantly, still staring after the turian. 'His creds are always good, if nothin' else and he's pulled me outta a few tight spots in the past.'

The krogan narrowed his small, beady eyes. 'You didn't answer my question.'

'No,' Walker murmured. 'No, I didn't.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Noveria was a ruthlessly cold planet. Keller had overheard enough conversations between inebriated businessmen in her time to know of the place by reputation alone.

It was a planet of frozen, mountainous steppes, of sheets of ice hundreds of kilometres wide and glaciers that buried entire continents beneath snow and frost. This was where many of the galaxy's major corporations hid their dirtiest laundry and the climate reflected their hospitality perfectly.

Keller had described what they could expect to Arlen and he kept the images in mind as he waited beside her for the airlocks to depressurise and open.

His mind was filled with gigantic, labyrinthine research labs where the Council's ears and eyes could not reach. He envisioned legions of scientists and guards, their eyes constantly shifting as they watched for anyone who may spill their company's secrets.

It was the stuff of bad conspiracy vids but then again, so were the rest of his experiences over the past few days.

The airlock door shuddered open reluctantly. Immediately, a blast of numbing wind hit Arlen's face and his mouth opened in surprise at its strength. At his side, Keller blinked and hissed through her teeth.

'It's a little...chilly...here,' she said, tight-lipped as she began to shiver.

'No kidding,' he replied. 'Would it have killed Qi'in to pack a scarf?'

The comment brought a soft chuckle from Keller and Arlen looked at her fondly.

'Come on, smartass,' she said, grinning, 'before we both freeze to death.'

They stepped out onto a hard stone walkway that straddled the outer edge of the docking bay and Arlen winced at the sight of the open hangar doors to his left. A blizzard raged outside and though they were protected from the roar of the winds, he shuddered at the wall of snow that flailed wildly, as if straining to rush inside and engulf them.

Realising he'd fallen behind, Arlen's feet skipped as he tried to catch up to Keller.

Everything around them seemed to hold a subtle tint of blue, as if coloured by the freezing air. He looked to his right, past the transport ship to where a control room stood. It was little more than a set of curved windows that glowed deep red, warm and yet somehow even more threatening than the storm at his back.

'I don't think I've ever seen a more hostile place than this,' he muttered.

Keller glanced at him. 'Not even Omega?'

'Omega was different. We knew what to expect there and the danger made itself known. This is...' He paused, his eyes falling over a large security gate ahead, manned by staring guards. 'It feels like we're being watched, like they could turn on us at any moment.'

Keller could only offer a weak smile. The place exuded a menace that went beyond the terrifying hostility of the weather. The lines of the environment were every bit as cold and sharp as those winds, the air thick with baited tension. Arlen’s instincts pricked at the how utterly still everything was, the only movement coming from the flurries of snow outside the hangar.

Arlen's feet scraped to a halt as they passed under a stone archway to be confronted by two security officers.

They were both human and female, he saw, though vastly different in manner and appearance. One was darker-skinned and haired, with narrow eyes that appraised them coolly. The other was paler, with a curtain of ruddy blonde hair that framed a face as harsh as their surroundings.

That one seemed to sneer at Arlen, and he kept his gaze on her in mute challenge as the first one spoke.

'My name is Captain Maeko Matsuo,' the woman said, cordially. 'I am the head of security here at Port Hanshan. Qi'in-san notified us of your arrival.'

'Pleased to meet you, Captain,' Arlen replied with a nod. 'Did Qi'in leave any further instructions or directions?'

'He did. He requested you meet him in the hotel bar at the other side of the port. In the meantime, I must ask that you respect the laws of Noveria and refrain from entering sensitive areas without the proper pass. If you are found in violation of these laws the executive board will revoke your landing permit and take the harshest actions possible against you.'

Arlen swallowed bitterly. The air around him seemed to have dropped another couple of degrees.

'Understood,' he said.

Matsuo bobbed her head. 'Good. There is just one more thing.' She gestured to the woman beside her, who took a step towards Arlen and Keller. 'Sergeant Stirling here will secure your weapons. I'm afraid personal arms are not permitted here in Port Hanshan.'

Both of them stiffened as Stirling approached, hands outstretched. Keller's eyes moved to Arlen questioningly and the young turian nodded without a thought, drawing his Striker.

He spun the weapon on his palm and offered the grip to Stirling, who snatched it away roughly. Keller narrowed her eyes at the sergeant in dislike and her hand jerked as her own pistol was taken.

Satisfied, Matsuo nodded and walked to Arlen's left, where a large set of glass doors stood. She entered a passcode and the doors slid back smoothly to reveal a long entrance hall of the same cool, grey stone.

It looked more like a military bunker than a corporate dock and Arlen's heart sank at the consideration that the entire complex would look the same. After the azurite skies and sleek towers of Illium, it was a poor substitute.

'You may proceed,' Matsuo said, formally. 'Step through the scanners at the far end of the corridor and you will be directed to where you need to go. Have a pleasant stay on Noveria.'

Arlen wondered at the sincerity of the statement as they passed through the entrance doors.

Without his weapon, he felt naked. He wore no armour and the loss of his pistol only heightened the sense of trepidation their stark surroundings brought on.

He looked at Keller and saw her own features lined with tension. Her hand kept wandering to her hip, as if expecting to feel the cool metal of her pistol but instead clutched only air. She seemed to feel the loss as much as he did.

They made their way through another security checkpoint and boarded a large elevator. Rippled glass panes lined the walls, distorting everything as the elevator moved with barely a whisper.

The air began to grow warmer and Arlen noticed how much his throat and lungs ached. Perhaps the explosion in Vastra's apartment had seared his windpipe but Noveria's icy air had turned the irritation into a dull pain that tore at his chest with every breath.

The elevator opened to a sight that went some way to easing their nerves.

A colossal lobby area sprawled out before them under a sloping glass roof, which the blizzard battered aggressively. The place was built in tiers, like the side of a pyramid, and followed the roof down to ground level. Artificial streams ran between the pathways, trickling gently to add a sense of serenity that contrasted with the raging storm outside. ECRS security guards clad in dark armour stood at every corner but they were relaxed, some even chatting idly to the businessmen strewn throughout the area.

It did not take long to find the bar, though Arlen was disappointed to see it looked no different from the rest of the complex. Executives of many species mingled freely, creating a warm hum of conversation that competed with the energetic, yet unobtrusive music piped through the club's speakers.

Some of the men and women turned to Arlen and Keller curiously as they strode towards the bar but none stared for too long. They were clearly well-used to seeing all kinds passing through.

Keller's mouth firmed in quiet annoyance at the bland, impersonal service terminal on the bar counter. She hated the proliferation of the crude devices, much preferring the interaction of organic bartenders and merchants.

Grudgingly, she ordered herself an asari cocktail before turning to Arlen.

'What're you having?'

'Just water, please,' he replied.

Keller frowned at him. 'Water again? What did I tell you before? You stand out like a sore thumb ordering water at a bar. Seriously, what can I get you? It's on me.'

'Honestly, Detective,' he said. 'Water will do just fine. I need to keep a clear head for when I meet Qi'in.'

'Okay, fine,' Keller murmured as she cast glance over the teeming businessmen and women. 'Good thing JSTF forwarded his file or we'd never find him among this bunch. I've never seen so many suits in one place. You sure you don't want a stiff drink before locking horns with this guy?'

'No, honestly, I'm all right. Thanks for the offer though.'

'Fair enough' she conceded and tapped her order into the terminal. A slot in the counter opened and from it two tall glasses were raised, their edges glinting as they caught the light from the distant windows.

Arlen brought one of them to his lips and drew a line of cool water down his throat. It was as cold as the weather outside and for a moment he wished he'd had the sense to order something warm to heat his blood.

His eyes flickered to Keller, suddenly remembering his thoughts on board the transport but he struggled to think of what to say. An outfit had been procured for her too; a long-sleeved, formal dress of red and cream and once more Arlen pondered how the curves of her body seemed to fit so snugly into anything she wore.

He rinsed a draught of water around his mouth in contemplation. It was obvious she took care of herself physically, which he supposed helped though it seemed more than that, perhaps the natural shape of her hips. Her hair shone after the special treatment they had received at the hands of Qi'in and her skin was flushed a warm, light brown.

'Are you all right?' Keller asked. 'You're staring.'

Arlen blinked, his mouth falling open. 'I-I'm sorry, I was just thinking. I didn't mean to stare.'

'So I see,' she replied with a grin. 'What's on your mind?'

The turian faltered. He wanted to tell her that he had been having odd thoughts, thoughts he did not fully understand but the absurdity struck him just as quickly. He was supposed to be an adult, not a child. He had been trained as a warrior of the turian legions and now an elite agent of Citadel Security. He shouldn’t be asking her to make sense of things that were his responsibility alone.

Shaking his head, he answered. 'It's nothing.'

'Nothing, huh? You know, if you're going to lie to a detective, you'd better do a damn good job. I'd give that attempt a...five out of ten.'

'Only a five?' Arlen asked in feigned shock. 'I guess I need to work on my deception skills.'

Keller placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Or you can do the easy thing and just tell me what's wrong.'

Her features softened in concern and he felt her hand squeeze his flesh.

'You know, back on the Citadel, you were the first person I ever told about Harkin. I'm not even sure why I thought you were the right person to hear me out but I'm glad I got it all off my chest after all these years, and for some reason I'm glad you were the one to hear it. Maybe it’s everything we've been through but I trust you, more than I've trusted anyone before. Now, I've noticed you don't tend to talk about yourself much but maybe you should take this opportunity, while you still can. Not to mention the whole 'strong, silent' thing gets old real fast.'

Arlen smirked and took another sip of his water. Perhaps he was being immature after all, being so stoic. He had been taught to fight and kill but no one had ever trained him in how to convey his feelings to a woman.

 _Maybe the detective’s right_ , he thought to himself, coming to a decision.

Clearing his throat, he turned towards her slightly, his lips working an answer.

'Detective,' he said before grimacing slightly and correcting himself. 'Amanda. Back in the academy, when you met your asari friend, did you have…feelings for her?'

'Feelings?' Keller replied, her brow quirked. 'Oh! You mean _feelings_. No, it wasn't like that. I told you, those were just rumours put out by Harkin.'

'So, was it because she was non-human, or because she was female? I mean, I know gender isn't really an issue with the asari, at least from what I understand…'

Arlen trailed off uncertainly and his brow twisted in embarrassment as he realised he had not said a single word he’d planned.

'Well, no, it wasn't any of those things, Arlen,' Keller answered slowly, unsure as to what he was getting at. 'Rila was my friend, nothing more, though to be honest I haven't really felt that way about anyone before.'

'But say you did,' he began again, once more sounding far less confident than he wanted, 'would you see species as a barrier? I mean is it normal to have those kinds of…thoughts…about someone who isn't human?'

Keller looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You want to know if inter-species relationships are taboo for humans?'

'Well, more specifically,' Arlen said, his voice growing quiet and awkward.

He looked away, suddenly unsure of himself and convinced he had made a terrible mistake in raising the issue.

'What do you think?’ he mumbled. ‘Is it normal to think about some-'

'Sorry, Arlen,' Keller interrupted firmly, her eyes staring past him, 'but whatever you wanted to ask will have to wait till later. Look.'

Arlen's head twisted to get a good view over his shoulder and he peered over to where a turian sat, alone. His skin was dark brown at the edges, with an ashen complexion spreading outwards from his nose and mouth, with a pair of small, yellow eyes that had locked onto him with keen interest.

It was Qi'in, of that Arlen had no doubt.

He shook his head, irritated at the interruption to their conversation but showed nothing of his annoyance as he clutched his glass of water.

'All right, here goes nothing,' he muttered and Keller gave a nod.

'I'll be watching,' she said.

Arlen grinned meekly and turned away. He tried to purge everything from his mind, to prepare himself for what lay ahead.

Qi'in would be watching him as he approached, his sharp eyes looking out for any sign of weakness and Arlen knew he could show none. This man would lead him to Krassus or leave him with nothing. Everything depended on this.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

  

'Where's Chellick?' Lina asked.

Milo looked up, his mouth ajar as he struggled to tear his eyes away from his screen.

'He rushed out of his office not long ago,' he replied. 'I'm not sure where he went but he looked nervous, angry even. He almost knocked Malin over and didn't even acknowledge the poor girl.'

Lina took a seat next to him and stared ahead thoughtfully, her arms crossed.

'This is crazy. We're in the middle of the biggest crisis the galaxy's seen for decades and I'm surrounded by people who're more wrapped up their own affairs than anything going on here.' She sighed, her exhaustion escaping in a single, long breath. 'I swear, when I asked Chellick for more personnel earlier, he gave me the strangest look. For a second I thought he was going to punch my lights out. Something's gotten into him, I just know it.'

'What do you mean?'

The quarian seemed to come to her senses and shook her head. 'Mm? Oh…don't mind me, it's probably nothing. This investigation, it's taken a lot out of us these past few days. I guess it's only natural to expect tempers to fray.'

'It's only natural to expect your damn leaders to set a good example,' Milo muttered, scratching at his beard. Once a dark, finely-trimmed line framing his jaw, it was now a mass of coarse stubble that he clawed at every few minutes. 'As if we weren't under enough pressure. I mean, what if Chellick's needed?'

'I don’t know,' Lina answered, her pale eyes distant. ‘What good is a chain of command if the links are scattered about the place?’

Milo smiled wearily and looked at Lina in admiration.

'You _do_ realise that everyone looks to you anyway, right? Especially after that business on Illium, when you took over for Lorica. The way you took charge and got everyone organised like that, it gave people confidence, you know?'

Lina glanced at him. She had reacted only in the way she knew how, her mind working and pushing her body along with barely a thought.

 _Besides, what was I supposed to do?_ she asked herself. _Simply let the team disintegrate and leave Arlen and Keller isolated?_

Lina cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. 'Speaking of behaviour, did you find out what possessed Lorica to leave her post like that?'

Milo looked back over his shoulder to where Lorica sat. She had distanced herself from the rest of them over the past few hours to work on the data pouring in from Illium. She had made no effort to talk to any of them and the only sign she was even there were the occasional flashes of blue skin as she leaned over her desk.

Milo's lips shifted, a flicker of sadness passing over his features.

'I see…' Lina began slowly as she detected his concern. 'I know you two are…close. It must hurt you, knowing that she can't talk about what's bothering her.'

'Or won't,' he mumbled. The words were bitter and he turned back to Lina, seemingly regretting them. 'I'm okay, really, I just wish I knew what's wrong with her. She seemed just fine a few days ago but, I don't know, something's changed. I used to be able to make her smile just by looking at her but it's like she's become this whole other person. We've hardly spoken to each other these past forty-eight hours.'

His tone was wistful and Lina felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. Something had indeed changed, that much was obvious to her. The distance between the two lovers was a gulf, one that had had stretched visibly, and it was difficult to believe they were the same couple she’d had to prise apart every few moments only days before.

'How long have you known each other?' she asked.

'Only a few months,' he replied. 'We met in Flux, a small club down in the wards. I was out with a few of my C-Sec buddies, all off-duty and looking to cause a little trouble with the ladies down there.'

Lina's eyes glimmered as the thought occurred to her that she did not really know much about Milo or Lorica, or any of the staff under her. Even Garrus was an acquaintance gained only by chance and the memory of their first meeting was tinged with regret, at least for her part. She had forgotten that many of her task force colleagues had been in C-Sec for many years, headhunted from their divisions to become part of JSTF.

She leaned forward, her suit creaking.

'What did you do before all of this? What division were you with?'

Milo grinned mirthlessly. 'I was in Network. Only been with the department for a couple of years, fresh out of college back on Eden Prime, a human colony out in the sticks. We didn't see many non-humans out there, so coming to the Citadel…it was something else. I still remember the first time I saw an asari…'

His smile widened as he tasted fond memories. 'Yeah, that's when I knew this place was for me. I applied to join C-Sec a month after arriving and I was slated for Network on my enrolment. Got the call for JSTF a few months ago like everyone else. That was why we were out celebrating in Flux that night, actually.'

He shifted in his seat, letting his gaze linger on his terminal. 'Lorica was dancing when I first saw her. She moved like…like nothing I'd ever seen before. I was sitting with my friends over at one of the tables but she caught me staring. She smiled at me and the next thing I know I was up there, dancing alongside her. We started talking and it turned out she was in C-Sec too, out celebrating with her own friends for the exact same reason. Quite a coincidence, huh?'

'Indeed,' Lina replied.

She tried not to sound too distant as she considered her own initiation into the force. It had been far less idyllic.

She shook her head gently. 'And you've been together ever since?'

'Yeah.'

Milo looked back again at Lorica, longingly. His fingers clenched for a moment before releasing and, with a sigh, he forced himself upright once again.

'I'm sorry, I know we have more important things to talk about.'

'Yes, you're probably right,' Lina replied. She rose to her feet and stretched out her flexible limbs, wincing unseen beneath her helmet as her joints clicked. 'There's just…so much going on that I have no control over. Lorica, Chellick, and then there's Arlen. And I haven't seen Garrus in a while, either. I just wish it could be simple. Sometimes it feels like everything's slipping from my fingers, no matter how hard I try and hold on.'

'If it was simple then you'd be bored,' Milo said with a weary smirk. 'I know enough about you to say that much, at least.'

Lina did not know whether to be amused or annoyed by his assumption. Instinctively, she crossed her arms firmly but her voice held a quiver of uncertainty.

'Don't flatter yourself, Milo. You know very little about me.'

She looked on as his expression changed, all his fear and worry over Lorica disappearing in an instant. 'True, though I think it's fair to take pride in the little I do know. The uh…exosuits don't really give much away. Or leave much to the imagination, for that matter.'

His eyes wandered over her body and Lina felt her chest suddenly become tight. She hadn’t seen anyone look at her in such a way before.

Slowly, she lowered her hands to her hips and spoke sternly.

'That's not really an appropriate way to speak to a superior, Milo. If you weren't vital to the investigation right now, I'd have you up on a disciplinary charge.'

The human grinned wolfishly for a moment. His eyes were hungry and they held hers with assuredness that infuriated and enraptured Lina in equal measure. It was that very look that had wormed its way into her thoughts over the previous days, constantly lingering at the edges to distract her.

The quarian narrowed her eyes, not fully understanding what it all meant.

Milo sensed her hesitation and turned back to his terminal, waving his hand dismissively. 'Look, I'm sorry, Lina. I didn't mean to offend you, really, I didn't. I can just get like this when things are tense. Call it a coping mechanism.'

'I'll call it a sexual harassment charge,' Lina quipped.

She took pains to keep her tone light, in spite of her hammering chest. Her fingers had begun to tingle as a heady rush of excitement washed over her. Nobody had looked at her with desire before, at least not quite so openly and without any trace of embarrassment. His confidence made her tremble and yet she forced herself to straighten.

Her mouth-lamp fluttered as she began to form a rebuke but the words died in her mouth. She knew she couldn’t allow those kinds of comments but perhaps what Milo said was true and he really was only acting from exhaustion. If she reprimanded him for this, then she should have reported Lorica to Chellick right away earlier, or even accosted Chellick himself for his own behaviour.

Everyone was entitled to a small slip, she decided, especially during periods of stress such as this. What truly frightened her, however, was that a part of her actually hoped Milo was being sincere.

His eyes held hers for a moment and she saw cunning knowledge in them, as if he could see everything she was thinking.

'You forgive me, then?' he asked, smiling.

There was something in his voice, a familiarity that made it seem as if they'd known one another far longer than they actually had. It frightened Lina, made her uncomfortable, but it intrigued her all the same. Gently, she nodded, giving nothing away.

'Yes, but stay focused and mind yourself. I doubt Lorica will be any keener to speak with you if she heard you talking like that.'

Milo stared past her for a moment, at the asari beyond. He looked deep in thought, and he tapped a pen on his desk absently. The clicking was unsteady, a motion filled with anxiety and tension.

Lina's eyes were drawn to it, though something else too began to jump at the periphery of her vision. With a gasp, she regarded Milo's terminal.

The display was morphing, the jumbled data pulsing and shifting with every beat of his pen.

'Milo, look!' she whispered.

The human looked at her, surprised, then followed her gaze to the screen. He stopped his tapping but Lina immediately seized his hand.

'Do that again,' she ordered quietly.

Milo picked up his pen again carefully and began to strike the desk again. He wasn't sure how hard he had been hitting it before and the beats were irregular, a rough guess but suddenly, the display began to move once again.

The digits and characters began to slide and skitter, blue symbols moving across the amber background in a halting shuffle. Milo stopped and so did the movement on the screen.

Frowning, he leaned over his desk and lowered his voice to a whisper.

'Boo.'

The picture jerked in response to his voice, a ripple that scattered everything on-screen into shards.

Lina's eyes grew wide beneath her visor.

'Keelah!' she exclaimed as she pressed in closer. 'I don't believe it! This is the virus code, right? It's…it's reacting to your voice!'

As she spoke, the terminal responded to her, her sharp tones bringing a spike of dark colour through the display from the bottom. They could only stare, dumbstruck. Neither of them had seen anything like it.

'We have to get a hold of Chellick,' Lina mumbled, her voice an awed murmur. 'He needs to see this.'


	27. Chapter 27

 

Arlen could see Qi'in appraising him with a guarded expression as he approached the table. There was little to be gleaned from the predatory gaze as it tracked him, as if eyeing him for the kill. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, he was truly afraid. It was not a mortal fear but a simple feeling of helplessness, not unlike when he'd stood in Executor Pallin’s office just days before, unable to do anything but stand there and hope the old man found something worthy.

This battle was not one Arlen could win through strength or determination. This was a war of information, of leverage and, if need be, deceit and he could already tell Qi’in would be a dangerous foe.

Taking a deep breath, Arlen prepared himself. He had lived through too much lately to be intimidated by this man.

'Lorik Qi'in?' he asked. He stood before the older man with his back straight, in the stance that was imbued on every soldier through a rigid diet of drill and discipline.

Qi’in smiled. 'The very same.’ His voice was smooth as silk and rang with cordiality. 'And you must be Arlen Kyrik. Do take a seat. Would you like something to drink?'

'No, thank you,' Arlen replied hastily, already sick of the question.

He took a seat and tried to ease the tension from his body, casually leaning back to prop an arm over the back of his chair. Behind Qi'in, the large windows bathed Arlen in a soft light and he suppressed a shudder at the perpetual storm beyond.

'A pity,' his host said as he picked up his own glass, the liquid rocking gently within. 'The liquor here has been imported from all over the galaxy. This whiskey, for example; straight from Palaven. Truly exquisite, if I do say so myself.'

'I see you're a man of refined tastes,' Arlen responded. He tried not to sound sarcastic but Qi'in looked at him sharply regardless, detecting a vein of insult in his words.

'Some of us have earned the right to enjoy certain luxuries,' he said. 'I fought for the Empire, for her colonies and I resigned with my head held high. Even the work I've done for Synthetic Insights has been beneficial to the interests of our people on the whole, despite my more…questionable connections. Yes, my tastes may be refined, but I've bled in battle and I can enjoy them in that knowledge.'

Arlen became still and held his gaze. 'Are you also proud of releasing the Jamestown Virus to the Forgotten Legion?'

The direct barb punctured Qi'in's manner for a moment and his eyes narrowed. Arlen matched his glare and the seconds passed with only the soft murmuring of conversations around them.

After several long moments, a smile curled Qi'in's pale lips and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

'Very well,' he said as he turned up his palms in mock surrender. 'You have my attention, Agent Kryik. Do go on.'

Arlen allowed the moments to slip by once more, enjoying the subtle advantage his blunt question had brought about. He rested his free hand on the table and drummed his fingers on the glossy surface.

Qi'in shuffled slightly but made no indication he was growing impatient.

'I'm not going to sit here and pretend we're friends,' Arlen said, finally. 'Nor am I going to play this game with you. Let's just cut to the chase here. You have information I need, on Krassus and the virus.'

He paused to let the words sink in and watched Qi'in as he silently digested them.

'Vastra told me all about you, how you split from the Legion to support them through your work in SI. He told me your research was responsible for everything up to this point and I'm here to make sure Krassus can't use that virus again. Nothing else matters to me or to JSTF. So tell me, am I wasting my time?'

Qi'in swallowed visibly but the condescending smile remained on his lips.

He breathed deeply and Arlen caught the heavy scent of drink as he exhaled. Qi’ins nerves were as stone and his appearance betrayed nothing. When his response came, there was not as much as a tremor in his voice.

'You're very direct, Interceptor. Most negotiations begin with a calculation of each party's assets to establish bargaining positions. If not polite conversation, of course.'

He clasped his hands together and stared at Arlen over the ridges of his knuckles.  'Very well, if you insist on ‘cutting the crap’, as humans say, then I too will be forthright. You are an impressive young man, I won't deny you that, but you're out of your depth here and I hold all the cards. I can offer you more than Krassus, let me be clear on that right away, but there will be a fair price. I will not spend the rest of my days in prison, nor will I spend it running from Krassus and his lunatics.'

'Lunatics?' Arlen asked, warily. 'Why do you call them that?'

'Look around you,' Qi'in responded with a disdainful grunt. 'I'm here enjoying fine food and drink while they're wasting their time fighting for a lost cause. Was the Jamestown Incident the act of a sane individual? Of course not. I have no more time for those fools. Now, do you have what I want, Interceptor, or do you want to continue this aimless posturing?'

'I have the approval for your immunity,' Arlen replied with a nod. 'It awaits confirmation that your intel is viable. If I'm satisfied, I'll notify JSTF and the Council will approve it.'

Qi'in grunted quietly. 'Well, that's certainly a start.' He relaxed, leaning back while keeping his fingers intertwined. 'Before we get into the details, however, I must ask; what exactly do you know of the virus used in the attack?'

'I don't know much myself,' Arlen began, weighing his answer carefully. 'JSTF is looking into it as we speak. They have a team devoted to analysis and the development of countermeasures.'

'Ah yes. The Joint Security Task Force, a novel idea, I must say. What do you think?'

'Excuse me?' asked Arlen.

Qi'in stared back at him curiously. 'The Task Force. What do you think of them? You are a part of it, are you not?'

'No,' replied Arlen. He was uncertain, and he was worried his hesitance was far too obvious. 'I was only assigned as additional security to begin with, there to respond to local emergencies. I was under supervision until my Interceptor status was approved.'

'And yet you're here? They've certainly thrown you into the deep end of the pool, haven't they? They must have had their own field agents, a veritable army of them, to send. Why you?'

Arlen's eyes drifted, his features briefly dropping in confusion. 'I'm…not sure. I was there when the bomb was discovered in Citadel Tower. I was the one who discovered its true nature, so I guess they thought I'd be the right person for the mission.'

'Bomb?' Qi'in queried with genuine interest. 'Now that is interesting. My reports speak only of a viral attack.'

Quickly, Arlen looked up and his expression hardened. Qi'in's subtle line of questioning had thrown Arlen off-balance, breaking his momentum.

He cursed inwardly at the move and took a calming breath.

'The bomb was a decoy. The terrorist had patched a small hard drive into the Citadel's systems and used it to deliver the virus directly into Citadel Control. The drive itself was supplied by Bithcon Dynamics, a company I'm sure you've heard of.'

'Ah yes, BD,' Qi'in said without a trace of surprise. 'A company set up to raise additional funds supplying low-grade tech to unsavoury characters in the Terminus Systems, Krassus among them. A pity we had to shut it down, really, the income was most helpful.'

The music in the background changed, bringing about a sudden pause in the exchange. Arlen suddenly became aware of the men and women clustered around them once again, and of Keller's cautious gaze on his back.

He flexed his fingers, testing the joints and drew another deep breath through his nose.

'So why did you shut the company down?' he asked. He decided not to mention Petra unless Qi'in did.

The other turian shrugged. 'Why else? I decided to end my association with Krassus and bring to a close any dealings and experiments that could connect them to myself. The virus was the last favour I did for them. A parting gift, if you will.'

Arlen frowned, confused. 'What did you say? But I thought you were a founding member?'

'A long time ago, yes,' Qi'in responded calmly, 'but things have come a long way since then, Interceptor. Even back then I wasn't the rabid revolutionary Krassus and the others were. I made the token platitudes when I joined Synthetic Insights, made Krassus believe I was serving his ideals but honestly, I never shared his hatred of humans.' He snatched up his glass and poured the rest of the whiskey down his throat. 'In fact, you could say I've come to appreciate them over the years, particularly their wit, their puns. They have the most delightful spins of phrases.'

Arlen frowned again, unable to understand the man sitting across the table.

'So, in the end you're only looking out for yourself?'

Qi'in smiled broadly. 'When all is said and done, my young friend, who else does one have? If I don't watch out for my good self, who will? I hardly betrayed the Legion, not when I provided them with their most powerful weapon to date. I merely chose to cut my losses before I became more embroiled in their affairs than I had to be. Your presence here shows that decision may have come too late.'

'A pretty cynical attitude,' Arlen answered. He recalled Vastra's pain and conflict on the matter and it was difficult to hide the welling of disdain for Qi'in he felt in comparison.

The man had no loyalty to anyone but himself. The very notion of such a thing went against everything every turian had been taught from birth, and Arlen crushed his abhorrence to speak again.

'So, what can you offer me exactly if you've cut all ties to the Legion?'

His grin widening, Qi'in brought out a datapad and placed it on the table.

'I received a coded communiqué from the general two weeks ago. He told me the Legion was about to carry out an attack and offered to take me back into the organisation, just like old times. I didn't respond, of course, though I had the good sense to keep hold of the message, just in case.'

'You knew about the attack?' Arlen hissed, trying to keep his voice down to hide the surge of anger he felt. 'You didn't think about alerting the authorities?'

'The message gave no specific details of the attack itself,' Qi'in replied indifferently. 'Would your authorities have acted on this one message alone when they likely receive dozens of threats at any one time? I think not.'

He leaned forward on his elbows, and the table creaked under his weight.

'It does, however, retain the transmission's point of origin. The system, planet, region, the exact co-ordinates of Krassus' base of operations lie within this,' he said, tapping the datapad with a finger. His lips spread into a knowing grin. 'This is only half of what I offer, Interceptor. The other half lies under half a mile of rock ten miles from here.'

'What do you mean?' Arlen asked. His head swam with the realisation that he finally had Krassus' location, at long last, though Qi'in's last words had tempered his elation with a strong sense of foreboding. 'What is this ‘other half’?'

'Ten miles north of here is a research facility,' Qi'in began. He spoke slowly to ensure Arlen heard every word. 'It is called Peak Ten. It is Synthetic Insights' primary lab complex on Noveria; an enclosed, isolated facility built into the side of a mountain. One of fifteen such locations, the labs serve the companies here by allowing them to perform sensitive research well away from the watchful eyes of the Council. Not all research conducted within their walls is technically legal.'

'I'm not here to make arrests,' Arlen said quickly, cutting in, 'and I don't have the time to go poking around some laboratory. I need to get to Krassus before he can use the virus again.'

Qi'in grew serious, shedding some of his composed veneer. 'On the contrary, I don't expect you to arrest anyone. I simply thought you would want to inspect the laboratory that gave birth to the Jamestown Virus.'

Blinking sharply, Arlen forced himself to settle. He remembered Vastra's last words and realised there was much they still had to discover. The need to track down his prey tugged at Arlen's patience but he mastered himself quickly.

'Go on,' he said.

Qi'in nodded and slid over a small plastic card. 'This is a temporary security pass. Take it to the shuttle bay and they'll take you to Peak Ten.'

Arlen's eyes flickered to his side as he remembered Keller. 'What about passengers?'

'I've taken care of that,' Qi'in said quickly. 'I've told the lab staff you're an important shareholder come to make a routine assessment of our current projects. Your…friend,' he murmured, casting a keen glance at Keller, 'can be passed off as your assistant. I'll have the project lead, Doctor Archer, meet you on arrival.'

'Project lead?' Arlen asked. 'You mean the research is still ongoing?'

'The Jamestown Virus came from an early stage in our research,' Qi'in replied. 'I couldn't very well steal the entire project out from under the noses of my peers, after all. For the past year SI’s research has continued, though the team seem to have run into a dead end, as it were. I don't anticipate the project will remain running for much longer. It is good fortune, perhaps, that you happened by when you did, before the whole thing disappeared into Synthetic Insights’ archives.'

The cold of the storm outside began to creep into Arlen's skin. He wondered how much information Peak Ten held, or if it was even relevant. He recalled Vastra's warning on the Fusion Directives but did not bother to ask Qi'in. He had a feeling Peak Ten would hold all the answers he needed.

'Now,' Qi'in announced, leaning back in his chair once again, 'I believe we can discuss what you intend to do for me. I've shown incredible good will in giving you what you need, have I not?'

'What do you want?' Arlen asked, his voice heavy with reluctance.

Qi'in grinned. 'I like my life, Interceptor. I do not wish to see it end. You already know I desire immunity from any repercussions from this whole sordid affair and I take you at your word when you say the matter is well in hand. Trust me, however, when I say that the real prize lies within Peak Ten. Without my express permission to enter, security will detain you on arrival and precious days will be lost until you are released. Unless, that is...'

He paused, and Arlen's blood stirred at his hungry expression.

'...five million credits are transferred to my account beforehand.'

'What?' Arlen gasped. He could not retain caution enough to keep his voice down and many of the bar's patrons glanced at him inquisitively. 'You can't expect me to-'

'Don't take me for a fool,' Qi'in interrupted. 'You know as well as I do that the Council has vast sums locked away for this very purpose. I don't intend to spend the rest of my life on Noveria, Interceptor. This retirement fund will do very nicely indeed. I will wait for confirmation that the money has entered my account before sending the all-clear to Peak Ten's security team.'

Arlen felt sick. He should have known better than to expect Qi'in to simply hand over everything he knew out of sheer self-preservation but the reality of his demand turned the young turian's stomach.

The galaxy was a complicated place, he had learned, filled with men who could make the wrong decisions for the right reasons, or the right choices for the wrong ones. Vastra's own sacrifice flashed through his mind in a ripple of fire and blood.

There were no simple choices in this life, he was beginning to realise, only the freedom to make them. That truth only made him hate Qi’in all the more and it filled him with a sudden, black rage.

'What makes you think I won't take what you know out of your slimy hide?' he said finally, his mouth a hard line.

Qi'in did not stir, choosing instead to fix his eyes on Arlen's and his lips rose slightly to bare the pointed teeth beneath them.

'You are only C-Sec, Agent Kryik. I very much doubt you have the authority, let alone the wherewithal to carry out such a threat. One word to your executor and I'll have you locked up in Purgatory, the key discarded.'

The simple truth made Arlen's eyes widen in surprise. Had things come so far that it had taken someone else to remind him of his position?

He swallowed and tried to regain his composure. He knew Qi'in was right. He was not a Spectre, no matter how closely Olansi's shadow still clung to him after the lawlessness of Omega. There were still rules he had to obey and he dipped his head to concede the point.

'You're right,' he said, 'I can't force you to tell me what you know and it seems I don't have a choice in this. I'll make the call.'

'Good,' Qi'in nodded, satisfied. 'For what it's worth, there's not much about what goes on in Peak Ten that I could tell you anyway. I'm only a manager in Port Hanshan, overseeing the various logistical and personnel demands of the facility and SI in general. I did maintain a close relationship with one of the head scientists in Peak Ten in order to procure technology for the Legion.' The turian looked aside, guiltily. 'But she disappeared some time ago.'

'I see,' Arlen said, understanding. 'So you weren't the one who commissioned the project to begin with?'

'No. That honour lies with another. I simply took what I could, while I could.' Qi'in paused and took up his whiskey glass. He eyed it for a moment, twisting it in his grip and watching the colours split through the glass and across his vision in a rich spectrum. 'I took it all for the glory of the Legion.'

The last few words were spoken with such contempt that Arlen could do little but stare at him. Qi'in roughly tossed the last of the whiskey down his throat and rose to his feet, swaying gently as he straightened.

'By the way,' he asked suddenly, drawing Arlen's head up to meet his gaze. His expression was filled with realisation, as if something had just been unveiled before him. 'Your name; Kryik. You are from Edessa colony, correct?'

'My family is, yes,' Arlen replied. He knew his facial markings would have easily given that much away but something in Qi'in's manner spoke of a different kind of recognition.

'Kryik. I thought the name sounded familiar. Do you know Renius Kryik?'

'My father?' Arlen asked, his mouth falling open slightly. The mere mention of the name sent a ripple of shock through his body and his fingers curled unconsciously into fists, squeezing until they dug painfully into his palms.

'Your father, eh?' Qi'in muttered. 'Interesting. Very interesting indeed. I wonder what he would say to see you now?'

Arlen clamped his jaw shut and adopted a cold mask, shutting out the memories that crept in.

'I wouldn't know. He's been dead for many years. I never truly knew him.'

'I see,' Qi'in said before shrugging. 'I will take my leave now, Interceptor, and wait in my office. When I see the funds have been transferred to my account I will activate your shuttle pass and send the all-clear to Peak Ten. A notification will be sent to your omni-tool.'

He offered his hand in farewell, reaching across the table. Arlen glanced at the outstretched palm but made no move to take it. Instead he glared at Qi'in, his dislike pouring from him in hot waves with no effort made to conceal it.

After a few moments, Qi'in merely shrugged and turned away, the sound of his footsteps quickly swallowed by the bar music.

Arlen let out a long-held breath and his body shook with the release. Part of him wanted to chase Qi'in down and ask him what he knew about Renius but he knew the questions wouldn't come to his lips. He looked down, suddenly furious with himself for being affected by feelings that should have long since died.

His head snapped up at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and his eyes met Keller's. The detective looked at him with open concern.

'Are you all right?' she asked. 'You look a little shaken up.'

The young turian glanced about him, as if waking up from a dream.

'I…I'm okay. I just…' Keller's earlier words came to him and with a force of will he brushed aside the gates that threatened to close on his emotions. He owed her that much. 'Qi'in…knew something. About my father. It might be nothing but...'

'You didn't ask?'

Arlen shook his head firmly. 'I don't even think I want to know.' He slowly gathered his thoughts as Keller took Qi’in’s empty seat. 'The way he looked at me…I can't help but wonder what he meant. I was always told that my father was a mercenary but before that…did he serve in the legions?'

Keller pursed her lips. 'You can't ask your mother?'

'My mother died some time ago,' he replied, 'and I…I don't speak to my brother. I don't think even Nihlus knows any more than I do.'

'So why don't you go after Qi'in? Why don't you try and find out?'

He snorted. 'I don't think it would make much of a difference at this point. Renius is dead. It doesn't matter what he did or who knew him in the past. Besides…'

Looking up, a subtle smile graced Arlen's lips and Keller looked at the datapad on the table. Arlen’s hand drifted over to rest on it.

'We have what we came for. This datapad contains a message from Krassus himself. If we can forward this to JSTF they should be able to trace its point of origin.'

'All right!' Keller said gleefully. Her face was alight with satisfaction and Arlen's smile widened at the sight. 'I take it we're going in?'

'We'll have to wait for official orders from Chellick,' he answered grudgingly, 'but I won't let this go without a fight. We've come too far to give this up to someone else.'

The detective grinned at him shrewdly. The thought of someone else apprehending Krassus after all they’d been through was too much to bear. The temptation to rest, to go home in the knowledge that they had done their part was great, but neither of them would even consider the notion at that moment.

'First, though, we have some things to take care of.' Arlen continued. He brought up his omni-tool and lowered his voice. 'Petra, we're in public here, so uh…try acting casual, as we discussed.'

Keller frowned curiously as Petra responded in a tone not unlike the irritating young club-goers back in the wards.

'Yeah, baby? What do you want? I just stepped out of the shower!' the AI chirped at a volume that brought the gazes of everyone nearby to rest on Arlen. She lowered her voice to add, 'Is that good?'

Arlen offered the surrounding onlookers an apologetic glance before turning back to her. 'Yes, yes, that's fine but keep your voice down! And don't call me 'baby', it's…odd.'

'I'll say,' Keller murmured as she clasped a hand to her forehead in embarrassment.

'Aww,' Petra cooed, mockingly, 'you're no fun today, baby! Your Noveria trip not going so well?'

Arlen cringed and whispered harshly. 'Okay, okay, that's enough, we'll practice later.'

It had seemed a good idea at the time, to disguise the AI's illegal presence by emulating casual calls but there was evidently a long way to go.

'I need to get a message through to JSTF. Are the comm buoys active?'

'Of course! Noveria heavy with comm traffic, lots of words and voices going back and forth all the time. Lots of monitoring, though. Executive board likes keeping tabs on everything going on and off-world.'

'Are you saying I can't send secure transmissions?' he asked intently.

Keller pressed closer, eager to hear the answer.  To their relief, Petra simply laughed.

'Of course! I can block the prying eyes and ears, keep everything secret!'

Smiling, Arlen picked up the datapad and connected it to his omni-tool. Both devices pulsed and he tucked his lower lip beneath his upper in thought. Qi'in's arrogance still plagued his thoughts and he ached with the desire to see him humbled.

'Wait,' he said, suddenly, 'before you send it over, I want you to add the following instructions.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Chellick hovered over Lina's terminal, staring at it in fascination. Behind him, over a dozen others had crammed themselves into the space around her desk, each craning their necks to see the strange phenomena for themselves.

He let out an irritated hiss of breath as a salarian jostled him from behind and cast a glare over his shoulder. The subordinate in question shrank back immediately, giving the commander plenty of room.

The terminal's orange light tinted their faces as they stared, wide-eyed. Lina murmured to it gently, her words rising into the still air, clear in the awed silence. With every soft utterance, the screen distorted and flexed, though there still seemed to be no pattern to the movements.

Chellick felt the tension as a clamp over his chest. He was only grateful that Lina had the virus code safely installed on the quarantine station, separated physically and remotely from all other networks. His mandibles itched at the thought of would could happen if it spread.

'Is this a mutation?' he asked, his rich voice cutting through the hush. 'Are we seeing the virus beginning its evolution into an AI?'

Lina shook her head. 'No, it seems this capability to interact with outside stimuli has been there all along. Perhaps the virus' ability to recognise such inputs have only just developed but samples of the reactive code taken by Milo indicate several lines of what he referred to as 'receptors'.'

'Receptors?' Chellick repeated before turning his head towards Milo.

The human was seated next to Lina and had been glued to her workstation since Chellick had returned from Chora's Den. It was now well past midnight but Milo showed no sign of fatigue as he answered.

'The receptors are pieces of code buried within every five to seven thousand lines,' he said. 'The code itself began as something incredibly basic; a repeating algorithm that was constructed with a single, slight anomaly. The algorithm was then forced to come up with a way to solve this anomaly before it could begin its next repetition.'

He ignored the looks of confusion from many of his colleagues to focus directly on Chellick.

'This is the beginning of a 'natural' AI, that is something that mimics a living being by adapting and evolving to changes and difficulties faced in its environment immediately from birth. The receptor code, however, provides the ability to directly introduce anomalies into the virus code itself by way of external signals.'

'So what you're saying is,' Chellick said slowly, 'the virus not only learns from flaws in its own programming, but has the ability to learn from anything and everything it encounters?'

'Well that's the thing,' Milo replied, scratching his chin. 'Any AI can interact and learn from its surroundings. The difference here is that the receptor code allows direct _manipulation_ of the AI. What you're seeing on that screen,' he said, motioning to the rippling display, 'is not a reaction. She's controlling the thing. She’s overriding its own free will.'

A collective murmur rose from the small crowd and Chellick straightened, his expression stern.

'So that's it. The Jamestown Virus can implant an embryonic AI on a system, ready to be controlled directly by the user. It's not just designed for disabling systems; it's designed to conquer them.'

His voice hung in the air for several shocked seconds and many of his subordinates exchanged worried glances. Lina too had stopped speaking to the virus and looked up at him, waiting for a decision.

'All right, people,' Chellick announced, 'if it wasn't clear we're not dealing with a normal virus before, it is now. We've already had confirmation from Coleran Vastra that Krassus has at least one more sample of this thing and that's all the Forgotten Legion needs. If they can infect another ship or even the Citadel with it, the results will be catastrophic and they're bound to get desperate, especially now they're living on borrowed time. Don't expect to sleep tonight. We're nearing the end game.'

'Chellick!' Lorica called out at their backs. The whole group turned their heads to the asari and she stood at her desk to face them. 'Incoming transmission from Arlen. We have a lead on the Legion's location!'

An excited shout went up from the staff and Chellick glanced about him angrily. 'Did I order you all to stand around all night, gaping like idiots? Get to work! Lorica, what do we have?'

He strode up to her workstation as the crowd quickly dispersed. Lina too rose from her seat to join him and wove her way deftly through the press to catch up.

Lorica typed hastily on her keypad and brought up Arlen's curt report.

'This,' Lorica began, pointing to an attached file on the display, 'is a message to Lorik Qi'in from General Krassus. Transmission details are intact and I've already begun the trace. We should have the location within the hour.'

'Excellent,' Chellick said eagerly. 'What else?'

'Only a brief sitrep. He says Qi'in has directed him to a research facility called Peak Ten, where he claims the Jamestown Virus was first created. Wait, what's this?'

Without thinking, Lorica placed a hand gently over her mouth.

'Goddess! Qi'in's demanding five million credits in exchange for the information!'

Chellick growled in frustration. He narrowed his eyes at the brief lines Arlen had transmitted and wondered what the young Interceptor had made of the request. Chellick doubted he had the confidence to try and argue the demand but he could not be faulted, either. Time was of the essence and Arlen had evidently thought whatever was being held at Peak Ten was worth the price.

Neither he nor Lorica noticed the sudden stiffness that had come into Lina's body, and the quarian's voice shook as she spoke.

'I-Is…is he going? To Peak Ten, I mean?'

'Yes,' Chellick replied without hesitation. 'I'll clear the funds for transfer. We need everything we can get on the virus now we know its true capabilities.'

'Wait,' Lorica cut in, 'there's more. It looks like Arlen's come up with a little plan for Qi'in's payment.'

Chellick's eyes wandered from side to side as he read the message and his mandibles pulsed in pleasure at what the young man was proposing. It was a move that Chellick could scarcely have planned better himself.

'Do it,' he said with a nod. 'Just don't make it too obvious.'

Lorica smiled and obeyed, though Lina watched her closely from over her shoulder.

Another voice sounded across the command centre, high and light. The salarian Chellick had scolded minutes before waved his hand at them from his desk at the other side of the room but he did not wait for permission to speak.

'Commander Chellick, Sir!' he yelled out desperately. 'Urgent call for you from Executor Pallin! Sir, he needs to speak with you right away!'

Chellick swore inwardly and hid the stab of apprehension that came with the news. A direct call from his superior could only come under the direst of circumstances.

He acknowledged the salarian with a nod and made for his office to take the call, hoping his body would not betray the nervousness he felt.

He did not see Lina's gaze track him all the way.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Chellick arrived at the Council chambers to find Executor Pallin already there, his fingers twisted together behind his back anxiously as he stood before the Council platform.

The chambers were empty at that late hour and filled with the unearthly violet glow of the Serpent Nebula, a permanent haze that seemed almost dreamlike. The vast room stretched behind him as he jogged up a long staircase, passing by a fountain and even a small rock garden with gold-lit trees without a second glance.

One thing that always surprised him was how far sound carried in that place. He did not know whether it was thanks to the unique design or nuances in prothean technology but the chambers magnified every small noise to reach the ears of all. A whisper on the main floor could be heard at the entrance elevator, and even then he heard the muted shuffle of a keeper from one of the squared cloisters at the edges of the chamber.

More immediate were the sour mutterings of Ambassador Udina to his right as he crested the stairs.

As if in response to his arrival, the human spoke. 'We've waited long enough, Councillors. I'd hoped Commander Chellick would have-'

Udina paused as scuffling footsteps scraped through the air and all heads turned to Chellick as he settled alongside Executor Pallin.

He sensed Udina glance at him sourly. No doubt the ambassador would have enjoyed the chance to see him try and explain himself to the councillors and Chellick was happy to disappoint him.

The air was heavy, both with the odour of pressured bodies working close to their limits and the more subtle sense of mutual distrust. They were all scruffy and dishevelled, their faces lined with fatigue but Chellick appeared to have just crawled from his grave. He felt Pallin give him a questioning look but he ignored it, instead straightening with as much dignity as he could muster.

It was difficult when he knew how terrible he looked. Dark lines cracked his pale skin and his eyes were sunken and exhausted, a constant drain as he forced them to remain open. Even the paint that lined his mandibles was sloppily applied, a poor effort that he expected was what caught Pallin’s attention.

Above them the salarian councillor, Valern, was the first to speak.

'Commander Chellick, thank you for joining us in this late hour, and at such short notice. We all know how difficult it is for you to leave your post at this time.'

Chellick felt the eyes of all upon him. His heart was beating quickly in his chest after climbing the stairs so rapidly and his thighs burned with the effort.

His attention, however, was focused purely on Councillor Tevos as she faced him directly. She stood framed against the large window at the rear of the chamber, a lithe shadow against the nebula beyond.

Chellick’s sharp gaze picked out every detail of her face. She was calm, serene even, and Chellick's mouth grew dry.

What had happened to Garrus? Had he not yet completed his task? Had he run or failed?

Chellick's breath stuck fast as another possibility entered his head. He saw Garrus apprehended and desperately spilling the truth to save his own skin. The image burned itself into Chellick's mind and he was only aware that the meeting had begun around him by the dimmed, murmuring voices trickling into his ears.

'It has been five days,' Udina barked, his voice strong despite his weariness. 'Five days and still we have _nothing!_ Councillors, I am facing questions on an hourly basis from an Alliance Parliamentary Subcommittee formed to investigate the attack, questions that I cannot possibly begin to answer. Why is the Council refusing to allow Alliance investigators the opportunity to work with JSTF? Why are we learning all the facts from the Citadel News Network and not your own people? These are just examples, ones I have to fend off with answers even I can barely accept!'

'I assure you, Ambassador,' Pallin said clinically, 'all the information we provided you is current and correct. I'm not sure why you feel you've been kept in the dark.'

Sparatus, the turian councillor shifted and added his own commanding voice to Pallin's. 'Agreed. Perhaps the pace of the investigation might seem slow to a human, given the reckless approach your species has to everything it encounters, but you cannot expect to be informed of events before they even occur.'

Udina's lips twisted in dislike at the councillor's tone, but he remained calm. Instead of snapping answer, he raised his right arm.

An omni-tool sprung to life around his wrist, wrapping his cream-hued suit in warm orange. Sound burst out, and it took several seconds for the others to recognise the sounds of police sirens and crying voices.

'The scene here is one of pandemonium,' spoke a female voice. Chellick immediately recognised it as the unique drone of a reporter and his heart sank as he realised where the footage had come from.

Udina visibly fought not to express his satisfaction at their discomfort as the reporter continued.

'Fifteen city blocks are still without extranet connectivity after the sector-wide communication blackout, costing local businesses millions of credits for every moment lost. Shuttle crashes have claimed the lives of six people so far, with many more injured. More disturbing, however, are the reports of pitched gun battles between police and foreign mercenaries, centred around a seemingly innocuous apartment building in the middle of the affected district. Nos Astra officials have not released an official statement regarding the attack but many locals claim to have seen or heard explosions in the vicinity throughout. Concerns that Illium may now be the target of a terrorist organisation are-'

'This,' Udina began as he closed his omni-tool, 'was forwarded by Alliance intelligence services three hours ago. The attack in question took place over six hours ago.'

He stopped to throw a sidelong glance at Chellick. 'Our own analysis of the attack shows many similarities to that which resulted in the destruction of the Jamestown. Did you not think to inform us that the Legion had struck again?'

Chellick cleared his throat. All eyes had turned to him again and he felt trapped, isolated.

He tried to push the weakness down into the recesses of his mind. His answers and platitudes were ready to throw at the politicians around him but the sight of the asari councillor had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.

'We are aware of the attack,' he began carefully, 'though it hasn’t yet been established whether or not the Forgotten Legion are behind it. We didn’t feel it appropriate to trouble you with theories, Ambassador, when evidence is much more useful.'

A thought occurred to him and he straightened subtly, choosing that moment to meet Udina's gaze. He found a thread of calm and grasped it, forgetting for a moment his worries of Garrus.

'As a matter of fact,’ he pointed out, ‘all the assailants involved in the Illium attack have been identified as human.'

' _Human?_ ' Sparatus repeated, aghast.

'That…' Udina said as his own shock stole the words from his lips. 'That is…unexpected. Have you identified any of the individuals?'

'Mercenaries and pirates, for the most part,' Chellick replied, 'though we're still getting reports in from Nos Astra police by the second, so that may change.' He paused, enjoying the sudden tension his hesitation brought. 'We have no idea who hired them yet and, as you've seen, it's not in General Krassus' nature to have others do his dirty work.'

'It could be a trick,' the salarian councillor proffered, 'a way to draw attention away from the Legion or even inflame the racial tensions they have already brought about.'

Udina looked at Chellick sharply. 'The councillor has a point. There are already calls on Earth for harsher action to be taken against the turians amid rumours they destroyed the Jamestown without reasonable cause. The voices are mostly those of anti-alien groups but more have spoken out. They're afraid of a cover-up and I don't blame them. Not only that, but we have had to deal with retaliatory violence out in the colonies against turian workers and immigrants.'

He looked up at the Council, his eyes challenging. 'I have been facing increasing pressure from the Alliance Parliament for something to answer these dissenters with and I've had nothing but an anti-human whitewash!'

'Please, Ambassador.' Councillor Tevos said.

Chellick's chest tightened again at the sound of her voice. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he detected something in her gaze, a glimmer of anger.

She went on, 'We understand humanity has been asked a great deal. We have…all lost something precious to us, from close friends to the trust that has taken decades to build. Perhaps it is time to begin rebuilding that trust.'

Sparatus glanced at her in surprise and Udina caught the motion. The human narrowed his eyes in interest as something passed between the two councillors though what it was, no one could not say.

Chellick felt a sudden queasiness as Tevos glanced at him. The white strip painted across her bottom lip shifted subtly.

'We are prepared to offer humanity a token of appreciation, for the patience and temperance you have shown throughout this crisis.'

Sparatus inhaled sharply but said nothing, his barely-concealed outrage pouring from his nostrils in a quiet hiss.

'The Council will once again consider humanity a candidate for Spectre recruitment,' Tevos said, her every word a hammer blow in the empty hall. 'You will draw up a list of suitable candidates, Ambassador, and consult us when you are ready.'

'Be sure to take your time and choose well,' Valern added before their turian counterpart interjected, his voice thick with disdain.

'There is no deadline, but after your last attempt another failure will not be taken lightly.'

Chellick's jaw hung limp. His skull felt tight and restrictive, and every beat of his heart was a throbbing rush of blood. His eyes turned down to the edge of the audience platform and he barely heard the words of the councillors as they continued the discussion without him.

'I am grateful, Councillors,' the Udina said solemnly, showing nothing of his obvious satisfaction at the outcome. 'I will pass on news of this generous offer and, on behalf of the Alliance and humanity, thank you for your wisdom in this.'

The councillors nodded and, as one, turned away. Udina smiled thinly as he walked past Chellick and the turian stiffened instinctively at his smug expression.

When the tapping of footsteps had faded, he heard a soft shuffle to his left and Pallin spoke, his tone unsteady.

'This investigation had better turn up something soon, Chellick or before we know it they'll be running the whole damn Citadel. Now you can see why the Council called this meeting now, away from the collective eyes and ears of the galaxy. When the Primarch hears about this-'

'Why?' Chellick asked, his throat hoarse. 'Why did they ask me to come? They didn't need me all the way out here just to listen to Udina have his little victory!'

'Udina demanded it.' Pallin's eyes met Chellick's as the commander's head snapped to face him. 'He asked that you be brought up here to explain your progress, though I'm starting to think he just wanted as many people here to witness this as possible.'

Chellick could not tell him how right he was, nor how much of an understatement his assessments were. He looked down at the floor, its surface worn perfectly smooth by uncountable years of use. His fingers bunched painfully into fists as he recalled Udina's grin and, without another word, he turned his back on Pallin.

The executor said nothing as Chellick stormed away, the rapping of his feet carrying to the very ends of the chamber.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

 

The mood in the command centre had shifted into one of palpable excitement. It was an electrifying place to be at that moment as everyone worked with a frantic zeal, despite the fact a new morning was fast approaching and most had again worked through the night. 

Arlen's latest transmission had all of them working hard on dozens of tasks. Even as the name of the planet left Lorica's lips, a dozen people leaned closer to their terminals, each focused on drawing an accurate intelligence picture of what they could expect to find.

'Zorya!' Lorica exclaimed as she stood from her desk to shout over the heads of her peers. 'Planet Zorya, in the Faia System, Ismar Frontier. Headquarters of the Blue Suns, with several large colonial settlements but for the most part, a hostile jungle world.'

Chellick heard her as he strode into the room, and he fought the urge to run as he paced briskly towards her. The Council meeting still burned in his mind, filling him with indignation and fear in equal measure.

He raised his voice enough to reach her ears and many looked up from their terminals at the ragged emotion in his voice.

'That puts Krassus outside Citadel space in the Terminus Systems, which means the Council won't touch him, at least not openly. They'll be too afraid of starting a war.'

'And if the Alliance gets wind of it,' Milo said aloud as he understood, 'they'll head right on in there, just like they did in the Viper Nebula during the Blitz. They won't wait for approval, especially if the Council are too afraid to make a move themselves.'

Chellick shook his head, swearing under his breath. 'This keeps getting better. Lorica, what assets do we have in the area?'

The asari had already anticipated the question and raised her head from a report that had just hit her terminal. 'Nothing that far out, Sir, at least nothing we can call on. The Terminus is a no-go area, with only Spectres authorised to carry out operations in that section of space.'

Chellick bit down on a sarcastic response. Of course he knew that, but the implications of Krassus' location went further than he could admit.

If the Council found out the general was hiding in the Terminus, they may well send one of their prized agents and steal away his success from under his nose, not to mention the valid point Milo had raised about the Alliance. If the snake Udina obtained the information, he would not hesitate to send every fleet the humans had to bring the general in. He could have it all.

Chellick swayed on his feet slightly as he struggled to cope with the web of choices and consequences presented to him.

'All right,' he said after a tense moment. His mouth was dry and his mandibles twitched at the thought of what he was about to say. 'Here's what we're going to do. Arlen is still out in the Traverse. He can make it into the Terminus Systems without drawing attention, just like he did on Omega.'

His voice shook as the pressure of the moment began to tell. A sudden hush spread around him and several analysts jerked their heads up in interest, eager to hear what their commander had to say.

'For now, though, we have to keep this information to ourselves. I want all status reports to the Council and the executor suspended until I say otherwise. We've finally got that bastard Krassus where we want him and I won't let either the Council or the Alliance take him from us. Lorica, get a message back to Arlen. Find out how to reach Zorya from his location. Pull any strings you can to get him there in one piece.'

'Chellick.'

All heads turned to Lina as she rose from her seat. Her eyes were wide at what she had heard, as were all of the team's.

'You can't seriously ask us to cut our superiors out of the loop! If the Council realise we're holding back intel then-'

'I'll be the one to take the blame,' Chellick finished for her. His venomous expression did not suit the sentiment, however, and Lina stood in shock as he went on. 'You all just...just make sure you do your jobs. We're close to the end and I need everyone focused on the task at hand, not worrying about things that don't concern you!'

'This does concern us!' Lina argued. 'What you're talking about is treason and besides, would it really be so bad for the Council to send a Spectre? And for that matter, how do you even know they’ll even send one when they've been more than happy to throw Arlen at every problem they've come across until now?'

Chellick held up his hand but Lina took a defiant step forward.

'What are you so afraid of, Chellick? Why do you _really_ want to keep this from them?'

Chellick opened his mouth to answer but fell silent as he became aware of everyone around him, each and every person in the room staring at him, judging his every word.

He couldn’t tell them what had happened during the meeting with Council. He couldn’t tell them Garrus had disappeared, that Udina could win it all.

'I've given you your orders,' he said slowly, his eyes boring into Lina's. 'You can either follow them, or I'll strip you of your responsibilities and see that you never work in C-Sec again. Do you understand me, Lina?'

His voice had twisted into a wicked sneer at the last and the quarian lowered her gaze. Her colleagues stared open-mouthed and for many long moments a deathly quiet descended on the room with no one daring to interrupt.

Chellick took her silence for assent and glared at the startled onlookers.

'All of you, back to work! I want reports every fifteen minutes from all section leaders. Move!'

His last word was a vicious bark that sent everyone scurrying away. Lina stood trembling, her eyes downcast and she shrugged off Milo's hand roughly as he rose to comfort her.

Chellick's feet pounded the stairs to his office as his anger and frustration spilled out. He pushed through the door before it was fully open and on reaching his desk, swept a collection of files aside with a cry of rage.

He would not let Udina win. He could not. He was convinced the human had come to some sort of agreement with Councillor Tevos; how else could have gained such support?

Garrus must have failed, Chellick told himself. He must have failed and the councillor must have given Udina that token gesture as vengeance.

Chellick's teeth ground together and his eyes darted from side to side as the possibilities rushed through his mind.

Gradually, the fog cleared, and he took deep breaths to calm himself. He could not panic, not while he had options.

His desk terminal opened with a chime and he hunched over it keenly.

'Walker? It's me.' He did not expect a reply, and did not wait for one. 'Your man is Donnell Udina, human ambassador. Forget what I said before, I want him gone, you hear me? _Gone._ I don't care where or how you do it. I just want him taken care of. Twenty-four hours, not a moment longer.'

A quiet shuffle could be heard on the other end of the line before it cut out without warning.

Chellick sighed, releasing as much of the strain as he could, and lowered himself into his chair. He sat for a time, staring blankly ahead, knowing no one would dare interrupt him.


	28. Chapter 28

 

The wind battered the side of the shuttle, making it sway in the air. It was larger and more cumbersome than a civilian-grade craft; a bulky grey box that almost blended into the dull colourless haze of the surrounding storm. 

It struggled through as dark teeth of rock rose from the mists below, threatening to snatch it from the air. Some of the mountainous peaks bore white towers with blinking red lights for guidance, tiny coloured specks that did not reach far in the smothering gales.

Inside, Arlen watched as Keller winced and bit her lip as the shuttle lurched again. They’d hoped her travel sickness had passed, especially after the ease of their journey from Illium but the violent juddering had brought painful spasms that grew stronger as the minutes went by.

'How much longer?' she groaned.

Arlen watched her with growing concern as he clasped his hands over his helmet, holding it tightly to his lap.

'Not long now,' he replied softly.

He wanted to reach up and give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze but he held the urge in check as his eyes drifted over their sombre company. It was a small thing, but he was wary of drawing too much attention to their friendship, as if the men around them would seize on the weakness without hesitation.

Four ERCS guards occupied the other seats and despite the shuttle's large size, their armour still made the space feel cramped and uncomfortable. Although Arlen and Keller had been allowed to don their own C-Sec suits to make the journey, they still felt dwarfed by the security team in their heavy Elanus plating.

Two large humans and a turian occupied one side of the passenger section, with a salarian seated next to Arlen on the other. All but the turian wore their helmets and fine plumes of misty breath burst from their respirators at regular intervals.

Arlen tried to ignore them as best he could but they were imposing and all had the air of seasoned men. Qi'in had chosen their escort well.

The turian was a sergeant from what Arlen had gathered, and the leader of the team. His gaze had flickered over to Arlen several times during the trip, trying to catch his eyes. He was an older man, with a short, stone-hued fringe and mandibles painted with square, angular markings of white.

He blinked as he realised Arlen was staring at him and smiled before leaning forward to rest on his knees. His voice was a throaty drawl that seemed to find its way from his mouth with great difficulty.

'That armour of yours; looks like it's taken a battering in its time.'

Arlen nodded cautiously. 'It's been through a lot these past few days. Things I can't discuss, before you ask.'

'Yeah, figured as much,' the guard grunted in amusement. 'Lorik said you're some kinda executive for SI. That true?'

Arlen did not speak, content to let the howling winds answer for him as the seconds drew out.

The man nodded to himself. 'Yeah, thought so. No businessman wears beat-up armour like that. Shame they took your weapons, though.'

The words were accompanied by a light tap on the assault rifle that lay across his lap. Arlen looked at it without emotion and his mind immediately leapt upon it as it always did, automatically listing the many ways he could snatch it up and use it if the group turned on him. He hated that instinct.

'Relax,' the guard said reassuringly, 'we're here to protect 'ya, though from what, I don't know. Still, I think you've seen some serious action.' He stretched out his hand. 'Good to meet someone who ain't a freakin' suit for a change.'

His tone was affable and more importantly, sincere. Arlen blinked at the simple, friendly gesture and wondered at why he felt so surprised. Perhaps he had seen too many traitors to his people over the previous days to trust a stranger so easily.

'Call me Arlen,' he replied, taking the hand in a firm grip.

'Sergeant Heiros.' The guard grinned at Arlen's own obvious hesitance. 'You don't shake hands too often, do you, Arlen?'

'I'm sorry, I just haven't had the opportunity for polite conversation lately.' Arlen glanced at Heiros' men. 'I take it you're in charge of this security detail?'

'Sure am. Lorik told me you and your friend here are VIPs during your stay on Noveria. I can't remember the last time we had anyone of your stature here, 'least nobody who needed a half dozen men to watch out for 'em. I mean what's next, an asari matriarch?'

Heiros laughed at his own joke and Arlen smiled politely in response, even though he didn't find what the older man had said amusing in the slightest.

'So,' Heiros continued, wiping his eyes, 'until you leave Peak Ten, we're your guardian angels, as the humans say. Not much else to be said, I just didn't like the idea of you thinkin' you were surrounded by a bunch 'a robots.'

Arlen gave him a grateful smile and sank back into his seat. The sergeant's earnest introduction was an unexpectedly warm comfort, a reminder that not everyone in the galaxy was out to murder them.

Outside, the winds chose that moment to ease and the shuttle became quiet. Arlen turned his head to look out of a small window behind him and saw the blurred rush of snow disappear, giving way to a sweep of white mountains below. Deep ravines ran between them like dark veins in the ice and a sloping white structure rose up like a finger of bone, jutting from one of the fissures ahead.

The shuttle began its descent, made easier by the sudden disappearance of the storm. The blizzard lay behind them in a solid sheet of snow while the land stretched out ahead, almost blinding in its whiteness. The sun was beginning to fall, tainting the sky with light shades of pink and red and lining the distant mountains with gold.

A shadow fell over the small craft as it lowered itself into the ravine and Peak Ten quickly loomed over it, crimson nav lights blinking along the structure's length. A landing platform lay at its foot and the glare of floodlights bathed the shuttle as touched down with a loud hiss.

Arlen and Keller allowed the guards to stand up first and Arlen shuffled closer to the detective protectively as the armoured soldiers towered over her.

The shuttle door moaned as it swung upwards, the intense cold having made its joints brittle. Even the lubricant the engineers applied during pre-flight inspection had frozen during the journey, hardening into shining welts that cracked and flaked away when the door moved.

Sergeant Heiros and his men tramped out of the shuttle and Arlen helped Keller to her feet.

The cold air rushed around them, fresh and clean. It seemed to clear the detective's head, visibly washing away some of the sickness as quickly as it had come. She straightened and smiled gratefully at Arlen before following him out the door.

For a moment he worried that someone would recognise the C-Sec colours of their armour but cast the thought aside immediately. Even if someone did suspect their affiliations, Qi'in's word would be good enough.

Immediately on stepping onto the platform, Arlen looked around in awe.

The landing pad was flanked on two sides by sheer walls of ice that shone in the pale light filtering in from above. It was brightly lit by the powerful floodlights but what their brilliance could not reach was steeped in shadow.

The ERCS guards formed a line and stood relaxed. Ahead of them, a small party emerged from beyond the light, another team of armed guards accompanying someone to whom they constantly deferred.

The man was human, a scientist judging by the creased laboratory whites. He was middle-aged, with dark, thinning hair drawn back across a high forehead and a face marked heavily with signs of fatigue. Rough stubble layered his jaw, further showing his years but his blue eyes were strong and focused immediately on Arlen as the turian came to a halt in the centre of the platform.

'Mister Kryik?' he called out as he drew near, and Arlen was surprised to see him smile. The human's voice was articulate and clear, giving him a well-educated demeanour.

'Doctor Gavin Archer,' the man greeted as he thrust out his hand. His voice was composed yet showed signs of heavy strain.

Regardless, Arlen took the hand and shook it firmly. 'Good to meet you, Doctor Archer. I understand you're the project lead here on Peak Ten?'

'One of many,' Archer replied. 'Unfortunately, the company doesn’t deem my work to be quite as relevant as it once was, at least not quite as important as some of the other projects here and so my status has diminished somewhat over the past year. It's fortunate you arrived when you did. Perhaps you can convince the shareholders of our value when you've seen what we're trying to achieve for yourself.'

Arlen's throat flexed gently as he swallowed. He would have to play along, though he had no real idea how he was supposed to be acting in the role Qi'in had given him.

'We'll see, Doctor Archer. Synthetic Insights has deep pockets but only for research that has real, marketable value.'

Archer looked uncomfortable for a moment but forced a grin onto his lips.

'Yes, well, hopefully you'll see the potential Project Deimos has to offer. Many people are relying on this work for both security and job advancement. I'd hate to see so many promising young careers stunted because of the bean counters' lack of vision. Now then, shall we get started? It wouldn't be a good way to begin your tour if we all froze to death out here, would it?'

The doctor led them from the platform and the floodlights dimmed to reveal a long pathway suspended above the chasm. The bridge was wide enough to allow heavy cargo loaders and the surface was slick with smooth, compacted ice.

Arlen felt his feet slip and he tensed in response, locking his knees and allowing his legs to slide with every step.

A large door lay open ahead, a black mouth in the wall. It swallowed them as they passed through and Arlen's eyes swivelled to take in an enormous cargo bay with smooth walls that curved seamlessly into the ceiling.

The warmth of Peak Ten's interior brought a collective sigh of relief from them all. Several spotlights were arranged in lines in between the clusters of machinery, casting wide circles of inviting orange and red across the room.

The simple shades heated Arlen's body, bringing him close to ecstasy as the last of Noveria's deep chill was purged from his blood. His nostril-slits tightened with displeasure at the tang of oil in the air while around them, groups of guards and workers bustled, either deep in conversation or scuttling back and forth to their own destinations.

'Don't mind the smell,' Archer remarked over his shoulder. 'The machine workshop is nearby and the ventilation system is routed right over our heads. If the vent fans break down then we get most of the blasted fumes from the place forced down our throats. Bloody cold sends all our groundside systems haywire from time to time'

'No apology necessary,' Arlen replied, though his gut twisted with the potency of the stench.

He shot Keller a pained look. She smiled at him and her eyes flicked up, urging him along. There would be no sympathy from her after the illness she’d suffered on the way there.

Arlen was able to make out several teams of workers wrapped in thick wads of bulky clothing. 'Considering the location, I'm not surprised things can get a little temperamental. It must take a lot of power to keep this place up and running. Is there a regional power plant or do you use a local generator?'

'Helium-3 reactor,' Archer answered. 'It's an enormous thing. We keep it further underground, deep enough for us not to worry about it freezing over yet not so deep that we can't get to it should something go wrong. The reactor supplies the whole facility with heat and electricity, though some of our staff would argue that it doesn't provide enough of either.'

Archer took them through a small door at the end of the bay and into a security checkpoint. Two gun-drones stood vigilant as everyone, including Archer himself, was scanned and decontaminated.

Arlen allowed himself a small grin as he heard Heiros bark a stern warning to those manning the other side of the booth but there was nothing to fear. Neither he nor Keller carried a weapon and the ECRS guards were instantly identified and cleared. After only a minute they were allowed to move on.

The corridors beyond had been hewn into the glacier itself, with thick glass canopies raised over their heads to hold back the crushing weight of ice. Beneath the metallic walkways lay glowing heating elements that dispelled the snap of frost in the air.

Arlen held back the urge to glance about him nervously. Some part of him was afraid the whole glacier could come crashing down on his head and he kept his eyes firmly on Archer to take his mind from what lay above.

'You mentioned Project Deimos, Doctor Archer. What can you tell me about it? What's your involvement?'

'Odd. Didn't the company brief you on it before you came?'

The question was accompanied with a raised eyebrow and Arlen hesitated. He did not trust himself to answer immediately and risk sounding unsure but to his surprise, Keller cleared her throat beside him.

'Mister Kryik has had to inspect many SI sites over the past week. You'll have to forgive him if the details slip his mind from time to time.'

Archer nodded. 'Yes, I suppose I can understand that. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't guilty of the odd spate of forgetfulness, considering the workload. Well, I should probably start from the beginning, that way you'll have a true idea of what we're dealing with.'

A door before them slid open to reveal a large room bursting with activity. The sound of marching feet rang out, dragging up the heads of everyone around to get a look at the visitors. From the way everyone stared, Arlen had the distinct impression they did not see too many strangers, or at least certainly not such well-guarded ones.

The walls were dotted with doors and Archer gestured to them as they walked.

'These are the elevators to the Hot Labs. There are eight in all and each lab is a self-contained unit built directly into the glacier. Should a containment breach occur, the entire lab is irradiated and sunk into the ice. Without power or life support, anything or anyone left inside will quickly expire. Simple, but effective.'

Arlen raised a brow. 'I'd have thought most, if not all of the research here was conducted around AI or VIs, or other electronic systems. Why would you need to worry about physically containing something that doesn't need food or water to survive, or even feel the cold?'

'Well, you must remember that SI didn't build the labs to begin with. They were constructed for companies like ours to settle and make use of, though the failsafe is still a useful one. You'll soon see why.'

His throat tightening at the cryptic answer, Arlen fell silent and continued to follow. Archer led them into one of the elevators and his hand hovered impatiently over the buttons as he waited for the guards to file inside. The cramped space could not contain them all and Heiros held up his hand to stop two of his men from entering.

The salarian and human exchanged pleased glances and nodded at him gratefully. They would have the opportunity to find a hot meal in the cantina while their remaining, disappointed comrade would have to continue accompanying the sergeant.

'Project Deimos began five years ago with a key discovery,' Archer began as the elevator trundled down the shaft. 'Far out in the Hades Nexus a survey team discovered an artefact of alien origin. The technology far surpassed, and still surpasses, anything the Council races possess. Initially it was thought the artefact was prothean but it was quickly established that it was older even than they.'

'Older than the protheans?' Arlen asked. 'That's quite a find. I assume the artefact was given to the Council for study?'

Archer cleared his throat. 'Actually, no. As I understand it the survey team was part of a small, struggling mining conglomerate, one that was bought out by Synthetic Insights just before the discovery. I'm sure the company would have handed over the artefact had it not displayed the…potential it did.'

'What do you mean 'potential'?'

The elevator doors opened with a rasp to reveal a long, low-ceilinged chamber. The walls were no longer glass but thick, sterile steel and plastic. Large banks of computers stood on all sides, attended to by large groups of researchers and the air was rich with conversation and digitised chimes.

Archer led them to the far end of the room, where a thick door barred the path, as solid and immutable as the glacier around them.

Arlen watched as he approached a small terminal at the side and a red scanning light passed over his face.

'Retinal scan confirmed,' a light voice said. 'Password required.'

'Valiant two-one-four-eight-four,' Archer replied.

'Voice sample recognised. Password confirmed. Please proceed, Doctor Gavin Archer.'

The door let out a sigh of pressurised air and jets of white mist burst from the corners as the great hinges began to swing open. Arlen set his jaw rather than let his mouth hang slack at the size of it.

The door moved slowly aside and he was stunned to see how thick it was, almost the length of his arm across and riddled with a dozen hydraulic and electronic locking mechanisms. The light in the vault appeared as a white crack which widened and eventually faded to reveal a brightly-lit alcove and Arlen frowned, fascinated by what lay within.

It looked like a statue or figurine, no bigger than his fist. The shapes and lines were oddly disturbing and uneven, and Archer took it from the alcove before holding it up reverently.

On one side, it looked slick and wet, like a clump of living flesh while on the other it was cold metal, ridged and scored with complex patterns that looked almost like circuitry to Arlen's eyes. Where the two sides met, the materials were meshed together, blue colliding with red and mixing to form a murky line of brown.

'Marvellous, isn't it?' Archer whispered.

Arlen could not bring himself to agree. To him it was an ugly, grotesque thing that was better off left buried underground than offending his senses here.

He put aside his disdain to ask one of the many questions that burned in his mind. 'This just looks like a statue, Doctor. Why is our company paying you to investigate pieces of alien art?'

'This is _technology_ , Mister Kryik,' Archer replied. 'Beneath the surface of this simple object lies a level of sophistication we cannot even begin to grasp. This wonder was discovered five years ago and since then we’ve been working tirelessly to unlock its secrets.'

The doctor continued to stare at the artefact for several moments before placing it carefully back into the vault.

'What you see is a melding of organic flesh and machine. Living, breathing tissue and synthetic material made whole so completely that it could only have been _grown,_ not constructed. This is, in fact, only a piece of a greater puzzle, a fragment of a machine that, so far, we have not been able to find. Still, through careful study and a crude process of reverse-engineering, we’ve discovered that the artefact was designed to transmit signals directly into the minds of sentient beings!'

'That's impossible,' Arlen scoffed though he knew the foolishness of his denial. Already he felt chillingly out of his depth, surrounded by things he did not understand.

He stared into the sinister object and though it was dead, inanimate, he could almost feel it. It was just his imagination, he was certain of it but the dead, smooth flesh and metal was whispering. When he tried to focus on it, the sound blended into the hums and drones of the air vents and lab workers behind them, fleeing so suddenly he doubted it was even there to begin with.

He refused to shake his head, if only because the gesture would validate what Archer was saying.

'What you're talking about, it's…it can't be possible.'

'I thought the same thing when I joined the project three years ago, Mister Kryik. I have devoted my entire career to the study of synthetic life, to learning the theory and practice of giving machines intelligence and sentience. When I saw for myself, however, what this artefact truly was…I understood how little I truly knew.'

He turned away from the vault and met Arlen's eyes. 'There are still things in this universe we cannot comprehend. We may never know the full story behind this discovery but we can learn from it. We _have_ learned from it. Project Deimos was the result.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Krassus ran his fingers along the edges of the young legionary's combat armour and held them up to show the thin but distinct smear of orange rust on his fingertips. 

'You haven't been maintaining your armour properly, have you, son? In this climate all metal parts need to be cleaned and oiled twice a day without fail, otherwise _this_ is the result.'

The young turian recruit held himself well, though his breath quivered through his nostrils at having been found at fault, and by the general, no less. Still, he dared not move his eyes. Instead he continued to concentrate on that familiar middle-distance and gave his answer, clearly and concisely as he was expected to do.

'Yes, Sir.'

Krassus continued to appraise him but could see nothing else amiss. It was difficult enough to pick out the tiny, almost invisible spot of rust in between the shoulder joints but the old soldier had been inspecting troops for decades and his eye for detail was still sharp.

In truth, the legionary's kit was in immaculate condition but that only made Krassus more inclined to exaggerate the smallest fault. It was tradition as much as anything and it sent the message that nothing could be overlooked.

After another tense moment, he nodded sharply and moved on to the next soldier in line. He held back a smile as he heard the previous legionary let out a long-held breath.

The next one was tall and wide of shoulder, and Krassus had to tilt his head up to address him.

'Name, soldier?'

'Legionary Veraidian,' the recruit snapped out. 'Former Twenty-Third Legion, Sir.'

'I didn't ask for your life story, did I?' Krassus muttered aloud.

Veraidian blinked and he could sense the stifled laughter of his century at the general's comment.

‘You've been with the Legion for…five weeks now, is that right?'

'Yes, Sir. Six weeks tomorrow.'

Krassus grunted his approval. 'Good. You eager to send the humans back into the primordial hole they crawled out of?'

'Yes, Sir!' Veraidian replied enthusiastically. 'My father served during the Relay 314 Incident. He showed me the humans can't be trusted and a good friend in the Twenty-Third pointed me in the right direction. I'm honoured to ser-'

'You really are intent on telling me your life story, aren't you, Veraidian?' Krassus interrupted.

The remark brought a snicker from the young men around them but Krassus allowed it, glad to see morale high. It took only a second before their centurion barked out the names of those who could not remain silent, marking them down for extra duties.

Krassus smiled inwardly, taking comfort from the familiarity of the routine.

The quiet scuffing of feet behind him brought Krassus' gaze back over his shoulder to see one of his staff officers approach. The man was stiff with formality and he brought himself to attention with precision.

'Sir, private transmission coming through.'

'Is it Tribune Varn?' Krassus asked. His second had still not arrived back from Illium and the delay was starting to gnaw at his patience.

The officer shook his head and the general's heart sank. There was only one other person it could be.

Nodding, he gave his thanks and turned abruptly to march away from the parade ground. Krassus' boots clicked loudly on the hard stone. The space had been cleared and paved, with nothing to indicate it had once been thick with jungle foliage.

Around him, the base was beginning to wake as the sun rose, casting a rich blanket of pink and orange across the compound. The first meal of the day was being prepared and the smell made him salivate madly. He’d slept little since the success of the Citadel operation and he relied on whatever fuel he could take in.

The noise of shouted orders and marching feet was thick by the time he made it into his quarters but he paid it no mind. It was the sound of a fighting force going about its daily business, something he had become accustomed to over the years. When they were not fighting, they were training to fight and rarely was the place truly quiet.

Krassus felt his mood darken the instant he stepped through his door and caught sight of his terminal. The comm channel icon blinked at him, nagging him and now he was alone, the general grimaced in anticipation of the coming conversation.

The channel opened with a crackle and Yanus' robotic drone rang through the room.

'Do you take me for a fool, General?' he began without preamble.

Krassus tucked his hands behind his back. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'I think you do. I think you know that seven of your men left the compound three days ago under the command of Avitus Varn. Did you think to hide their disappearance from me? Did you think I wouldn't notice?'

The voice was angry but it was no more than Krassus expected. Silently, he cursed Avitus for not being there to deflect the accusation. There would be no point in denying it.

'Yes,' he said, 'Tribune Varn did leave, assumedly to go after Prefect Vastra. He had mentioned his anxieties over Vastra's refusal of my orders to return here, though I didn't think he would go so far as to slip away with a half dozen of my best men. I had no idea he was gone until it was too late.'

'And you didn't think to inform me, to warn me that your attack dog was tramping around the galaxy for everyone to see?'

'This is a Legion matter,' Krassus replied sternly. 'I've told you before, Yanus, I decide how to deal with my own men, not you.'

Yanus scoffed angrily. 'Prefect Vastra was well in hand. There was no need for interference. The fact remains that I gave you an order and you failed to uphold it, General.'

A strange sound whirred through the room, like the spinning of a mechanical servo, and Krassus frowned gently as he realised it was coming from Yanus. A quiet grunt, almost too faint to be heard, sounded beneath it but Yanus spoke again, quickly cutting it off.

'The moment a second-in-command disobeys an order is the moment a unit fails to function. I have no need of a general who cannot control his own men.'

Krassus felt a chill crawl down the nape of his neck.

'I've spoken to Varn since he left. I ordered him to return and he has complied. He should be back any moment now.' Again he wished Avitus was by his side. 'And I resent the insult, Yanus. This is my legion and the men are loyal to me. Each one is willing to die for his brothers. They're not just a pack of varren without an alpha male, as you seem to be implying.'

'I wonder,' Yanus replied icily. 'What kind of example is Tribune Varn to the rest of his men? You have been a leader long enough to know what happens when the chain of command is sundered, General.'

Krassus' breaths came as short, sipping wheezes and his mouth parted slightly as he toyed with answers.

It was an impossible position. He knew that he could not appear to condone Avitus' actions and yet he felt the sting of truth in Yanus' words. Varn should have been back by now, regardless of what had happened on Illium.

Behind him, Zorya's rising sun began to creep through his window, sending a thread of prickling heat up his back. He would have to relent, no matter how much he detested the idea.

'I…know,' he murmured, 'and I assure you, the tribune will face the harshest possible penalties on his return. He will be stripped of his rank and forced to-'

'No, General,' said Yanus, coldly. 'When he returns, you will dispose of him immediately.'

'Dispose-' Krassus' jaw hung open, his eyes wide. 'You're suggesting I kill my own second-in-command?'

'No. I am _ordering_ you to kill your own second-in-command.'

Yanus spoke with the utter confidence of one who knew his word would be carried out. His tone was pitiless.

'Tribune Varn has proven he cannot be trusted. If it is as you say, that he countermanded your orders, _my_ orders, without your knowledge then there can be no other outcome. You will kill him as an example to the rest.'

Krassus felt his throat restrict, threatening to choke him. He shook with rage and shock at what he had been ordered to do but what choice did he have?

He forced out a reply, though it seared his throat.

'Very well.'

The connection was lost in a rush of static, leaving Krassus swaying in place. His eyes shifted as memories played before them, memories of battle, of friendship and brotherhood. His mouth was dry and his mandibles ached.

How he had _burned_ to tell Yanus to go to hell, to simply disconnect the call and free himself of the shadow that clung to him. He wished he’d had the courage to say no.

The general staggered across his quarters in a daze and slumped onto his bed, sitting hunched over his legs. A musty stench rose from the mattress and he felt the whiskey bottle against his thigh.

He could not even bring himself to pick it up. He had let Varn talk him into this course of action and, as Krassus had feared, it had all backfired.

 _Avitus knew the risks,_ the general told himself. His old friend had known there was a chance he would not return, that to be discovered would mean harsh consequences.

Krassus let out a deep breath as his hands quested for the bottle, fumbling as his fingers grew clumsy.

For the first time, he hoped Avitus would have the sense to stay away.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Archer grumbled to himself as the elevator panel sputtered, the haptics flickering haphazardly beneath his touch. He turned and gave Arlen an apologetic grin as the elevator finally responded.

'As I mentioned before, the cold can interfere with our systems from time to time. The heating elements in this section are being replaced by our engineers as we speak, so we have to suffer the consequences as best we can until they're operational again.'

Arlen worked his fingers constantly. Turians did not cope well in cold climates as it was and even his armour was of little comfort.

The elevator doors opened to another laboratory, though this one was far larger than the one that housed the artefact vault. The room was bowl-shaped, with rows of desks and terminals reaching in a sweeping curve around a central holo-display.

A lilac-hued, spherical construct emanated from the projector, rotating slowly as it pulsed gently with energy. It reminded Arlen of the combat drones he had faced during his training exercises, though this one was colossal in size and pale in colour.

Across its surface scrolled reams of information, and the heads of the scientists dotting the lab constantly shifted up to it every few moments.

'What is _that_?' Arlen asked.

He noticed Keller too stood rapt at the strange image before them and even Heiros seemed fascinated. The old sergeant's mandibles flickered, his eyes still and focused.

Archer smiled. 'This is Project Deimos. What you see, Mister Kryik, is an AI. However, this AI is unique. Watch.'

As the words left Archer's lips, one of the researchers, an asari, stood and walked up to the construct before raising a hand. Arlen saw her mouth move but they could not hear what she was saying at that distance. They did, however, see the construct shift and rotate. It morphed in place, its shape changing until it resembled the asari herself.

Again, the scientist spoke and many of her colleagues turned their heads to the far end of the room, where a series of doors, shutters and other mechanisms stood. Suddenly, the doors began to open and close, and banks of computers sprung to life as if they had minds of their own.

The scientists responded calmly and began to type notes with steady efficiency.

'Why…are those machines behaving like that?' Arlen asked, cautiously.

Archer's smile twisted in satisfaction at the hesitant wonder in his voice.

'Because we told them to.'

Arlen swallowed and glanced at Keller. She held his gaze and each found the same worry in the other. He turned back to Archer.

'What exactly are we seeing here, Doctor?'

Archer beckoned to them and he spoke as they followed. 'What you are seeing is the result of five years of intensive study into the artefact you just saw. I explained that we managed to reverse-engineer the technology in its construction but that is only half true. We could not possibly hope to completely replicate something of such advanced sophistication. It is simply beyond our limits at this time. However, we did learn the basic methods behind the signals it uses to influence the minds of organic beings. Although we cannot yet build a machine that can produce a signal anywhere near strong enough to do this, we found that we _could_ achieve the opposite.'

'The opposite?' Arlen murmured. 'You mean you used this artefact to emulate synthetic mind-control?'

Archer stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'That is not entirely correct, though I fear I have not explained it accurately. The artefact controls by forming a symbiotic link, a bond between organic and machine. The two become one. There are things about the organic mind we have still yet to learn, many, many things. Our understanding of what truly _makes_ a sentient being beyond our cells, water and synapses is still fairly limited. We do, however, fully comprehend the minds of machines. We are responsible for their very creation, after all.'

'So how is this any different from typing in a command on a keyboard? We tell computers what to do all the time.'

'This is no mere computer, Mister Kryik,' Archer replied as they passed the enormous, glowing construct. 'This is an AI, the closest thing to a living creature we can create. Free will is a barrier previously thought unbreakable. Slaves have usurped their masters, oppressed peoples have overthrown tyrants, impossibilities have come to pass because of will alone. An AI can be shackled from its creation and bludgeoned into obedience but what if the shackles are broken? The AI is free and nothing can bring it under control again.’

He smiled triumphantly.

‘Until now, that is. Through our research it was discovered that the minds of humans, turians, salarians, in fact every organism with a brain, contains unique cells that act as receptors for outside stimuli. It was these that the artefact once manipulated, though our primitive copy could not generate a signal even remotely powerful enough to affect them.'

'So you created the equivalent in computer form,' Arlen finished as he began to understand. 'You created receptors of your own to use in the construction of the artificial intelligence.'

Archer nodded proudly. 'Indeed, though one cannot simply 'build' an AI, at least not one that can be equated to a living being. An AI must develop naturally from a simple algorithm, much in the same way cells multiply by making copies of themselves. The Fusion Directives, as we call them, are implanted during this early stage. When the AI is grown it is ready to be manipulated and there is nothing it can do to override our commands. The Directives are a part of it, as vital as anything else in its code. Doctor Tiela,' he said, motioning towards the asari, 'was fused with this AI from its birth. It obeys her without question, even though its thoughts and actions otherwise are completely of its own will.'

The world had quietened around Arlen as he digested the news. He looked again at Keller and her lips drew into a thin line.

The Fusion Directives Vastra had mentioned were more dangerous than they could have imagined. If Krassus managed to infect a craft or station with the virus then he could control the vessel itself from afar, using it to wreak destruction on a terrifying scale. Thoughts of an infection of Jump Zero or Arcturus Station raced through Arlen's thoughts and he struggled to remain calm.

Beside him, Sergeant Heiros yawned loudly, his initial interest having worn off some time ago. Arlen envied him his ignorance.

'So,' he said, 'what you have is something that can think and act for itself, yet can be controlled at will when the situation arises?'

'Exactly! This could be the key to finally shedding the last of our fears towards synthetic intelligence! The Council has outlawed this kind of research, has outlawed all development of AI because of their inherent unpredictability, yet if they saw beyond all doubt that we could exert and maintain our influence over them then perhaps they would finally take the risk!'

Arlen looked at him, though his thoughts had turned to Petra. He wondered if she was listening, what she would think of all this.

'So, this AI,' he said, gesturing towards the construct, 'has been fully aware for the past few years?'

A look of disappointment flashed over Archer's face.

'No. This is the second test subject and has only been operational for the last twelve months. The first AI we bred was…a failure. It was made to follow only one master, namely my research assistant, who suddenly left the project about a year ago without a word of warning.'

His expression darkened.

'Without my assistant the AI became unstable. It grew unresponsive and even hostile. Steam pipes would rupture near lab staff, junction boxes would overload, the accidents mounted until it was clear the AI was responsible. Thankfully these labs are kept on closed networks. I don't doubt that it could have taken down power or life support for the whole of Peak Ten had it the chance. As it stood, the damage was limited to a few injuries before we pulled the plug.'

Arlen's gaze raked the laboratory. 'Lorik Qi'in mentioned the disappearance of this research assistant of yours. Who was she?'

The very subject seemed to rankle Archer and his eyes narrowed in disdain. 'A quarian on Pilgrimage, is that what they call it? The company picked her up on an indentured servitude contract on Illium. Not legal within Council space, of course but then Noveria is far out of their reach. She was brilliant, a true expert in her field and a great help to the project. In fact, it was the technology she brought with her that allowed us to explore more avenues of research than we dared hope.'

'How so?'

Archer stalled briefly as he considered how best to broach the subject.

'What do you know of the geth, Mister Kryik?' he asked.

Arlen furrowed his brow for a moment before answering. 'Not a lot, nothing beyond what I learned in school. They're a race of synthetics that dwell beyond the Perseus Veil. Is that correct?'

'Yes,' Archer nodded, 'the quarians created them centuries ago but when they began to show signs of self-awareness, their creators panicked. The resulting war drove the quarians into exile. While the geth are a mere legend to us, they are a constant source of anger and fear to the quarians and the two races skirmish constantly, unseen by the rest of the galaxy. My assistant brought with her a functioning neural processor, taken from a geth unit. It was priceless, even among her own people but to us it was a way in, a way to see just how much we could do with what we'd learned from the artefact.'

'This quarian sounds like she was a valuable asset,' Arlen said. 'What was her name?'

'I'll never forget it.'

Archer pronounced the name awkwardly, spite wringing it from his tongue.

'Lina. Lina'Xen Nar Moreh.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Lina's fingers slid across her keyboard in panic as the private comm channel flashed on her terminal. 

It was something she had been expecting for a while now, and for which she’d convinced herself she was prepared. Still, when the moment came her heart jolted hard, threatening to burst from her chest.

Her head turned from side to side cagily, and when she was certain no one else could hear she tapped her screen. An omni-tool fluttered to life on her wrist, called by the flashing terminal.

Again, Lina stole a glance around her. Everyone else was too busy with their work to notice her and still she expected a sudden question or curious hand on her shoulder as the call was transferred to her omni-tool.

She tried to keep her movements casual but her stomach ached and knotted as she rose to her feet. She watched the other analysts, wary of sudden glances in her direction, certain that if only one of them locked eyes with her they would see her intent.

Her legs felt weak. She hadn’t felt steady since her early altercation with Chellick and the commander's decision still sapped at her resolve, gnawing away her confidence.

Even the dozens of murmured exchanges flooding the air seemed louder to her and every quiet laugh, every stern order seemed more pronounced.

As she turned, she saw Lorica's eyes flicker up from her work but they did not remain there. The asari was trying desperately to undo the suspicion already placed on her and would not be a problem.

Lina took a deep, shaking breath and brought up her omni-tool. Some part of her wanted to believe that Arlen wanted nothing more than advice or resources but ever since the mention of Peak Ten she’d been waiting solemnly for someone to take her aside.

Gathering her strength, she opened the channel.

'Arlen?'

Her eyes shifted as she spoke to see if anyone was watching.

'You know what this is about, Lina,' the Interceptor said immediately and Lina closed her eyes sadly at the abruptness of his voice.

'I take it you know?' she asked.

'Yes. Are you alone?'

'Not exactly,' she replied, her gaze drifting amongst her staff. 'Give me a second.'

Lina shuffled away and the omni-tool carved a glowing arc through the air as her arm swung by her side. She kept her stride as casual as possible to avoid suspicion but her muscles were hard with tension beneath the exosuit.

She wondered why Arlen wanted a private discussion but she would not, could not, let hope kindle just yet. 

She made her way out of the command centre and into a narrow passageway. It led to the holding cells, server rooms and secure meeting areas among other things, but they would all be closely monitored. She needed to be alone.

Her feet scuffled and echoed through the corridor, making her twitch nervously. The quarian had always been proud of her ability to think clearly under duress, to push down all of her fears into a rigid layer in the pit of her stomach.

That calm would not come now, however. It fell through an empty void in her gut, sickening her.

After one more cautious glance, she swept aside a door to her left with a brief pass of a hand over the controls. The storage room was dank and pitch-black, and shadows morphed into one another as Lina's omni-tool swung up to her mouth.

She waited for the door to close before speaking. 'All right, it's safe to talk.'

She paused and breathed deeply to address the reason, the only reason, he had called her.

'Arlen, I know what this is about and I can explain.'

'You worked on Project Deimos for two years!' Arlen hissed. 'You were part of the experiment that gave birth to the very virus we're fighting to stop!'

He was breathing heavily and his voice was thick with pained anger.

'You kept this from all of us! Why, Lina? _Why_ did you keep it a secret?'

Lina's mouth-lamp flickered with every laboured breath and the omni-tool layered her visor in rolling, golden bars as her arm shook.

'I-I didn't even know it was the same virus, at least not right away! When you brought the hard drive back from Citadel Tower and I got my first glimpse of the code, I knew it seemed familiar but there was still so much we didn't know at the time. Everything had happened so fast, so suddenly and I didn't want to draw conclusions or lead the investigation to a dead end. I couldn't do it!'

'Are you sure?' Arlen snapped.

The disbelief in his voice wounded Lina but she forced herself to listen.

'You've had plenty of chances to come clean on your involvement in all of this. You could've told us about Project Deimos, about Peak Ten and Lorik Qi'in. You were afraid, weren't you? That's the real reason you kept your mouth shut!'

The fury in the young man's voice rang sibilantly in Lina's ears and she closed her eyes against it. Tears threatened and she ground her teeth against them.

'Yes, Arlen, I was afraid. I've been accepted into C-Sec, elevated to this position by Executor Pallin in a gesture of kindness and trust. Just the thought of his shame and disappointment if everyone knew I'd been working with the enemy, even if it was in the past...'

She fell silent and a shudder passed through her body as her sobs were crushed before they could form.

She was strong. She was ashamed, but she was still strong.

'When I came to the Citadel, it was as a vagrant. I'd been drifting for several months. I was hungry, exhausted and the few credits I had I spent trying to make it here. I owned nothing, knew no one and nothing could have prepared me for the hostility I'd face here. Pallin found me when I needed help and gave me a chance, a real chance at another life.'

She heard a gentle scraping on the other end of the line.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Uncountable miles away, on the other side of the galaxy, Arlen eased himself into a chair and brought a hand to his face.

The small office he had been offered by Archer to make the call was cool and quiet, though that only seemed to make the thoughts scream even louder in his head.

Keller had taken position outside the door to ward off any eavesdroppers and Petra had secured the transmission.  All he had to do was talk, though even that seemed beyond him at that moment.

He felt tired beyond measure and what he'd discovered about Lina threatened to take away the last of his resolve. He had considered, even prayed for the name to be just a coincidence but he'd known such hopes were foolish.

The rules were such that he should have reported it to Chellick and JSTF, even Executor Pallin.  But he remembered those moments on the Citadel. He had panicked, stood trembling before Crixus’ bomb and Lina had been the one to calm him and show him the way, like a beacon in the dark. She had poured everything she had into the investigation and Arlen knew it.

She deserved to answer for herself.

'Start from the beginning,' he said as his eyes gazed listlessly to the side. 'How did you come to work here?'

He heard the mechanical edge to Lina's sigh as a single, weary note. 'You'll have to excuse me if I seem reluctant to discuss the subject. Those are memories I put behind me a long time ago.'

Arlen's voice hardened, the strength of it surprising him. 'So put it back in front of you. I want to know it all. Hold nothing back, Lina, I mean it.'

Again, she let out a long sigh, though this time the sound was edged with audible pain.

'I am…the daughter of Admiral Daro'Xen Vas Moreh, a member of the Admiralty Board and leader of our people.'

'An admiral's daughter?' Arlen responded. Though he knew little about the quarians, it was obvious enough that Lina must have come far to be separated from her.

'Yes, though I would use that term loosely. My mother was…not like other parents, not even like her fellow admirals Han'Gerrell and Rael'Zorah. She was fascinated by - no - _obsessed_ with the geth. She has devoted her life to studying them in the hope that we will one day be able take control of them once again. She…'

Lina paused and sadness entered her voice. 'She passed that obsession on to me. From the moment I was born I was educated almost exclusively in the fields of programming, robotics and artificial intelligence. I was taken aside for private tutoring by the Fleet's most knowledgeable scientists from the very second I could read and write, a grievous misallocation of Fleet resources in itself. My life was spent in classrooms and laboratories, away from the other children. The world can seem small enough for a young quarian, with nothing else beyond the bulkheads of your own ship but for me, it was worse even than that.'

'I guess I can understand that,' Arlen replied as childhood memories of cold and pain, blurred and indistinct, crossed his mind. 'Some parents can place incredible burdens on their children. It makes us strong, though.'

Lina grunted. 'Yeah, but some of us would have appreciated the choice, Arlen. My mother was like a puppet master, never seen but always felt. She exercised her authority in everything, whether it was forcing me to study geth technology that should have gone to the lab ships, or the placing of guards on my cabin door after I'd been caught playing with other children. I had no will of my own. I was just a tool to her, another lab assistant she could use to further her own research.'

Arlen leaned forward in his seat.

'But then you got your chance to see the wider galaxy, right? Your Pilgrimage?'

'No, Arlen,' Lina responded. Her tone had grown low and husky as grief threatened to take her.

'I…I wasn't sent on pilgrimage, at least not like the rest of my people. On the surface I suppose it would have looked the same. I went through the same survival lessons, the same weapons training as the rest but when the time came, I quickly realised what was happening. I realised it when I was afforded a private transport with full escort to a small colony, only to be met by smiling humans and asari in suits.'

She took a deep breath, the sound jagged and torn.

'My mother...'indentured' me to Synthetic Insights, Arlen. For six years I would be a slave to the company, working and learning with them, finally returning to the flotilla with valuable results and data that would benefit my people. No - benefit my _mother_.'

'Your mother _sold_ you?' Arlen growled. His hands trembled with shock at what he’d heard and he fought to keep his voice from rising into a shout.

'Oh, I doubt she saw it that way. She would have coldly excused it all, reasoned it away as being necessary for the future of our people. Daro'Xen was always a pragmatist to the core. Besides, the company treated me well and I likely had an easier time of it than most pilgrims. But I was still a slave, and Peak Ten was my prison.'

The revelation swept through Arlen like a wave.

'You…never ‘left’ Peak Ten. You escaped it.'

'Yes,' she answered solemnly. 'I did. I worked on the project as best I could, overseeing the creation of the Fusion Directives and the beginnings of the virus code. I did everything they asked of me and thanks to my life of study, I proved more adept even than centuries-old asari. After a short time I was picked as Doctor Archer's own assistant and as their trust grew, the less restricted my movements became. One day I saw my chance and smuggled myself away in a cargo container. I spent a week in that thing, only to emerge on a strange world with no idea of where I was or what to do next. I knew…'

Lina's voice cracked as the past threatened to overwhelm her.

'I knew I could never go back. By defying my mother, I had effectively ruled myself out of ever returning to the Migrant Fleet and by running from Synthetic Insights I'd made myself a target of a major conglomerate. There was only one place I could go to hide from them both. By the time I found my way to the Citadel, I was almost starved and without any hope of survival. I'd changed my name by then, which was easier than I'd thought. Quarians don't appear in Citadel citizenry lists to begin with.'

'So your work on this project, on the virus, none of it was your choice?'

'No. I was used, Arlen, from the very moment of my birth. Now you see why I wasn't ready to expose myself, not when so much was at stake. Say what you will but I was in an impossible situation, one that took two years to escape from. What matters is that I've had nothing, _nothing_ to do with Synthetic Insights or Project Deimos since the day I left. Since Pallin found me I've been working to make my own way. I’ve had to give up my home and my heritage to create a new life for myself here and I couldn't risk throwing all that away.'

Arlen exhaled and closed his eyes. He hadn’t known what to expect when he confronted her. He thought he was prepared for her excuses but what he'd found had torn a ragged hole in all the certainties he had up to that point.

He had more questions but he was reluctant ask. Perhaps he simply couldn’t handle any more answers.

'So, now you know,' Lina said, her voice shot through with resignation. It was clear she did not expect understanding, let alone forgiveness. 'I won't object or resist if you decide to report me to Chellick, or Pallin.'

Rubbing his face, Arlen tried to think logically. He knew Chellick would be merciless if he suspected a link to the enemy. He would have Lina interrogated with all the ruthlessness he had shown when he'd ordered the _Jamestown_ destroyed.

Familiar instincts, loyalties to the values Arlen had been raised to hold close now warred with the knowledge that Lina had suffered. Perhaps she had suffered enough.

'I…I can't do that,' he began. He ignored the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. 'I can't let you face prison or worse, not after everything you've done for me, after everything you've done for us all. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have made it this far, it's as simple as that. I believe what you've said is true, that you had no choice but to participate in the project and…'

He could find no more words. He did not need them. He heard Lina's breath shudder with emotion and relief, and she too said only what she needed to.

'Arlen…thank you.'

'Yeah…' was all Arlen could say.

The last vestiges of his doubt screamed at him to change his mind but those voices were quickly silenced. He crushed them, forcing them into the back of his thoughts. After many soundless moments, he brought himself back to his senses.

'You'd better go, before you're missed.'

The office around him had grown colder by the time the connection was cut. It was a dark place on a strange planet and Arlen knew he had never felt further from home than at that moment.

His omni-tool chirped and Petra echoed cleanly through the air, her tone hesitant.

'Arlen, you…protect Lina? Was that right?'

Arlen did not move, or even blink. He was staring into his own thoughts, examining everything that had led to that point.

After a few moments, his answer escaped in a doubtful mutter.

'I hope so.'

 

####  **~~~ME:I~~~**

 

By the time Arlen and Keller boarded the shuttle for the flight back to Port Hanshan, the Interceptor's mood had soured palpably.

Sergeant Heiros and his men did not even try to speak to him and even Keller had made only a small attempt at conversation, though she knew what had happened. They would both be quiet until the numbness of shock had weakened.

Arlen sat hunched over, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared down between his feet.

Conflicting emotions raged in him, making him quiet and sullen. He felt shame at hiding Lina's involvement in Project Deimos from Chellick and the others but what choice did he have? He knew Lina was one of the most valuable members of JSTF and the investigation would suffer if she were removed now. Yet if someone discovered Arlen's part in keeping her past secret, he could find himself in the firing line too.

To his surprise, that particular danger did not seem to concern him. Perhaps the constant threat of death over the past few days had distanced him from all those old fears, the ones that discipline had woven into his very being. He found he did not care as much about the small things, that he no longer felt the urge to leap to attention or formulate a diplomatic, respectful reply to a superior.

He was learning to think for himself and if anything frightened him, it was only how quickly the change had come.

He felt Heiros' eyes on him long before he looked up. The sergeant regarded him with a half-smile, unwilling to ignore him any longer.

'You look like you got the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders there, kid,' the sergeant growled.

Arlen tensed slightly but there was no help for it, and he did not interrupt the old sergeant as he continued.

'I've seen that look before, mostly when my son gets a bug under his shell about one thing or other but I still know that whatever that doctor told you, it ain't good. I know it ain't my business and that I shouldn't ask, but...'

He trailed off and Arlen's eyes narrowed. Perhaps the look was harsher than he'd intended but he was in no mood for small talk and Heiros scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. After a long silence, Arlen expelled a deep breath through his nose.

'Have you ever had to make a choice, Sergeant? Between what you've been told is right and what you know is right?'

He tried to make the question sound as innocent as possible but his own voice sounded childlike to his ears. It was not the sort of thing a Synthetic Insights executive would ask but then again, Arlen had long suspected Heiros knew he was no such thing.

That the elder man had kept silent throughout his tour of the facility instead of handing him over to security was proof of his character, though whether it was sympathy, even curiosity towards Arlen or loyalty to Qi'in he could not say.

Heiros squinted, as if trying to see past him. 'That's the legion life talkin', I think. Would I be right in assuming you are, or were, in the military?'

'I'm…one or the other,' Arlen replied cautiously.

Heiros nodded. 'I'm a vet myself. Twenty years. Got myself a citizenship on retirement, a nice, big family back on Palaven. Every colony kid's dream, right?'

'I guess.'

Arlen had known from the beginning the man was not from Hierarchy space, though it was more than the markings. It was the way he held himself, the way he sat a little straighter or spoke louder than the man beside him.

Heiros was someone who had had to prove himself more than most because of his birth. It was something Arlen knew well.

The sergeant grunted a sharp laugh. 'Yeah, you're a little young to appreciate that kinda thing. In any case, I know that voice they put inside you from the day you set foot in boot camp all too well. No, not a voice. More like a…pair of hands.'

Arlen's brow raised a fraction at the thought of hands being ‘put inside' him and Heiros raised a palm.

'Bear with me, I'm goin' somewhere with this. These hands, you've felt them. When you're given an order, they push. When a superior pisses you off, they reign you in. They're there to guide you down a certain way of thinkin'.'

'You mean the military's?'

'I mean the Hierarchy's,' Heiros corrected. 'It's been that way for thousands of years, son. We're supposed to all be good citizens, to think and act a certain way but you and I both know it ain't always so clear.'

He paused and Arlen was forced to lean in closer as his voice quietened.

'Nothin' in boot camp could've taught me how to look myself in the mirror, knowin' the things I've done. Those hands won't touch you in those moments, when you’re starin’ at yourself in the mirror, cursin’ the day you were born. In those moments, all you got is yourself.'

'So what should I do?' Arlen asked. 'I…I believe that for the most part, what I've been taught is valuable but what about those moments when I'm forced to choose?'

Heiros smiled and all the knowledge of his years lay bare for Arlen to see.

'Do what feels right, kid. No matter the rationalisations you use either way, one thing will feel right and the other wrong. Even if there ain't much of a difference, it _will_ be there. Just know those hands don't care about right or wrong, and whatever you do, don't be afraid to slap 'em away if you need to.'

Arlen sighed deeply. 'That…really isn't much help.'

Heiros let out a sudden, hearty laugh. 'Now when did I say I'd be of any help, huh? If you'd-'

A piercing bang silenced him and the shuttle pitched to the left, jerking the passengers into instant readiness.

An alarm wailed from the front of the compartment and the guards looked askance in panic, only for their heads to weave as the craft tilted without warning.

Arlen's stomach churned at the sudden commotion and he looked at Keller, who had turned a ghostly white.

'What the hell was that?' she shouted over the alarm.

Heiros clamped his mouth firmly shut as he mastered his shock in an instant. He keyed his suit radio and all of the earlier friendliness in his voice had vanished as it snapped out.

'This is Sergeant Heiros, what's going on? Did something hit us?'

The shuttle pilot's reply came through and Arlen set his jaw at the panic in his voice.

'Sergeant, we've been hit by some kind of anti-aircraft weapon. We've lost all power to the starboard thruster and altitude's dropping fast. We've re-entered the blizzard and I can't keep us in the air!'

'Damn it!' Heiros yelled out before turning to his men. 'This is _not_ a drill, people! We've been hit by hostile triple-A and we're about to hit the ground hard! Grab a hold of something and brace for impact!'

Everyone pressed themselves into their seats and gripped the sturdy handles at their sides. Even then, they shared a dubious look, knowing there would be injuries no matter how well they prepared themselves.

It was only then that Arlen noticed the vertigo gripping his senses.

The shuttle had begun to fall from the sky. The tiny windows lining the bulkheads showed only rushing snow and he felt sick with the anticipation of the crash.

The seconds ticked by with only the roar of the winds and a loud, rhythmic tapping against the outside of the shuttle. Something had been torn loose and was left free to rap against the metal, each blow like a hammer to their nerves.

A moan began; the terrifying shriek of a plummeting aircraft and Arlen risked a glance at Keller only to find her staring back at him.

The detective said nothing but the terror in her eyes was all he needed to see.


	29. Chapter 29

 

The shuttle slammed into the ground like a meteor.

Those inside were thrown about like rag dolls as it thundered into a snowdrift, the impact sending a heavy thump echoing throughout the hills.

The thunderous sound was borne away by the blizzard, stolen by the great rush of wind and ice as if it were only a mere nuisance. As the final echoes receded, the shuttle lay still, embedded in the drift and not even smoke dared rise to face the storm.

Within the passenger compartment, Arlen winced as he brought a hand up to his head. His fingers came away clean and he was thankful the medigel still bound his head wound tightly.

Something was digging painfully into the gaps of his armour around his lower back and he realised he was lying face-up, staring at the seat he'd occupied only moments before.

The compartment lights were damaged and they dimmed constantly, bringing darkness in irregular pulses. In a snap of panic, Arlen rose up to look for Keller, only to stumble.

He was standing on the bulkhead and after a few moments he realised the shuttle's deck was by his head. They had crashed side-on, and it took several seconds to get his bearings, even with the craft's relatively simple layout. Keller moaned at his feet and Arlen moved quickly to help her up.

'Damn it,' she hissed, clutching her head. Arlen offered her a hand but she waved it away. 'I'm okay. You'd better check on Heiros and the others.'

'No need, we're all fine here,' came the coarse reply from further down.

Heiros stood and looked at Arlen, his face filled with apprehension. 'I don't believe this. Eight months till retirement and I get shot out of the sky and crash on the most hostile planet in the cluster. Just my friggin' luck.'

'You're not dead yet,' Arlen offered, 'if that helps.'

Heiros grunted and turned away. Scrapes and thuds reverberated through the compartment as he started to pull down several cases from their secure moorings on the wall.

'I guarantee whoever brought us down'll come lookin' for us,' he muttered, 'and even if they don't, we need to get a distress signal out ASAP. Unless we light up a beacon it'll be days before Matsuo gets clearance to send out a search party. By that time the blizzard will have covered this whole area with snow and they won't be mounting a rescue then. It'll be corpse retrieval.'

Arlen cursed softly and his gaze snapped between them all. He stood uncertainly, aware that everyone looked to him to make a decision.

'You're the most experienced man here, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘What do you recommend?'

Herios scratched the back of his neck and the confidence seemed to bleed from him.

'Honestly? I haven't a damn clue. General policy back at Hanshan if someone goes missing is one of two things. If the weather's good, you head out and look for 'em. If not then you better start writing condolence letters.'

'Great,' Keller murmured before rising shakily to her feet.

Ignoring Arlen's worried glance, she began to jerk packs of equipment from where they lay secured to the bulkhead beside her. The turians gaped at her and she jabbed a finger past them.

'Don't just stand there, we need to get moving! Empty these containers and start picking out everything we can use. Anything that's not essential, just toss to one side. Heiros, do we have fuel and water? How're we doing for food? I assume these shuttles have survival kits.'

'I-I, uh,' Heiros stammered, taken aback by the human's sudden assertiveness, 'I think there're least seven canteens of water, enough for us plus the pilot, providing he survived. That's another thing. With internal power gone, there's no way we'll be able to get into the cockpit from the inside. We'll need to use the emergency hatch further down the exterior. There should be some hexi-blocks in the survival kits but I can't say the same for food. A lot of the kits get raided by bored or hungry security teams between flights.'

'Well, start looking!' she ordered before turning to Arlen. 'You, get the shuttle door open before it freezes shut!'

Arlen reacted instinctively to the tone of command and turned on the spot, stepping tentatively over the small windows beneath his feet.

The shuttle door lay above their heads, halfway down the compartment. What was once an easy access point now looked intimidatingly difficult to open and Arlen knew better than to get his hopes up as he tried the haptic controls. The servos whined pitifully, unable to wrench the door open in their damaged state.

Biting his lower lip, he tested the door's emergency lever and was rewarded with a faint hiss of air as the locks and seals disengaged.

Summoning one of the human guards with a rough motion, Arlen pressed both hands over his head. The position was a physically awkward one for the turian and the breath rasped from his nostrils as the strain mounted.

'Ready?' he said, waiting for the human to nod. 'Now!'

They grunted in unison and a gap began to appear slowly as the weight above them gave way.

Immediately the wind roared into the compartment, flinging snow into Arlen's face. He was about to wipe away the icy slivers but thought better of it as the weight above his head made his arms tremble.

With a great heave, they finally forced the door open enough for the hydraulics to lock in place. In less than a heartbeat, the air's bite filled the compartment and Heiros rushed to put on his helmet, swearing all the way.

Keller narrowed her eyes against the cold and had to raise her voice to compete with the din.

'The emergency beacon is around here somewhere. I'm going to find and activate it. In the meantime, go outside and see if the pilot's all right.'

Arlen felt a hard weight push against his hands and he looked down to see Keller had picked up his helmet. He glanced up again and managed a grateful smile.

She returned it, her eyebrow cocked.  'You'll be needing this.'

Smirking, Arlen nodded before taking the helmet and dipped his head to put it on. As the soft cushioning slipped over his skull, it compressed the air around his head and he breathed in deeply at the sudden pressure.

In an instant, the storm was little more than a distant thrum, made all the quieter by the colourful language with which Heiros filled the comm channel.

'Radio check,' Arlen said aloud, earning a surprised grunt from the sergeant.

'All clear here. What about the rest of you?'

One by one, the rest of the guards mumbled their confirmation and Arlen reached up, taking a firm grip of the door frame.

As soon as his head cleared the combing, his vision was assaulted by the fury of the blizzard. Dashes of white swirled in front of him wherever he looked and his heart sank as he noticed the sun had almost set completely, rendering the scant few feet visible to him in shades of foreboding purple and grey. Though he could not be certain, he thought he could see the surrounding mountains reaching up into sky like jagged black teeth.

Moving carefully, he lifted up his legs to clear the combing and allowed himself to slide down the shuttle's edge, the ridges making his backside ache all the way down.

He hit the ground and immediately sank knee-deep, sending a spray of powdery snow up into the air.  Behind him, he could see the damaged thruster at the rear of the craft, now nothing more than a blackened stump that hung pathetically from the frame.

Ignoring it, he worked against the snow, dragging one foot at a time as he held up a hand to keep his visor clear. It was a futile action and the blizzard seemed to rage even harder at his efforts to block it, screaming from every direction and threatening to pluck him from his feet.

Suddenly, his other hand brushed against something solid and, with a quiet gasp, Arlen looked up.

The front of the shuttle had disappeared completely beneath the snow drift, the rear half of it jutting out like an uprooted tree. Arlen clawed at the ground in desperation but his fingers met only ice and snow, compacted into an iron-hard layer that would require tools to breach. Tools they did not have.

The howling winds were indifferent to him as he turned his back, his heart weighted with regret.

'I can't get to the pilot,' he said, the words heavy on his lips. 'The front is buried too deep. I…I can't get there.'

He heard Heiros sigh sadly over the rushing wind. 'All right. Better get back inside, while you can. So long as we keep the snow out, we might be able to make a half-decent shelter here, at least for long enough to get rescued. You know, your human friend here seems to have a good head on her shoulders. You should be grateful.'

Despite the forces battering his heart and body, Arlen managed a feeble smile at the thought of Keller's resilience.

'Yeah. I am.'

As he began to make his way back a sudden, moaning gust pressed against his chest, pushing him a step back. Arlen gnashed his teeth together as he tried to regain the precious inches. Though his armour gave him adequate protection against the cold, the sheer force of the blizzard was immense and the fear of being snatched up and tossed aside was constant as he scaled the shuttle's side once more.

Arlen settled himself by the door, panting heavily. It had only been opened halfway, though the wind blew into the inner edge, making it shudder and jerk violently.

As he readied himself to jump inside, Arlen's head rose sharply. Another noise hummed beneath the blizzard. It was low and deep enough to be distinctive, though it was the slight tingle it sent through Arlen's teeth that gave it away.

He looked up, and just through the curtain of ice, he could just make out a shadow slipping through the storm.

Without hesitation, Arlen clasped a hand over his suit radio button.

'Sergeant, we may have company. A shuttle just flew overhead.'

'Can't be friendly,' Heiros replied. 'There ain't no patrols around this area and the emergency beacon hasn't been activated yet.'

'The same ones that shot us down?'

'I'd bet my ass on it. They've probably dropped by to finish the job.'

The sergeant shuffled and the familiar clicks of priming weapons entered Arlen's ears before orders were barked out.

'All right boys, we’ve got incoming hostiles. I want you up there with Arlen ready to give 'em a warm welcome. Set your targeting VIs to max assistance; your eyes won't be much good out there.'

Arlen shifted aside as gloved hands gripped the hatch combing and one by one, the guards pulled themselves out into the freezing night air.

Heiros emerged last and once he was clear of the door, he turned to Arlen. The sergeant had donned his own helmet; sleek, black and expensive, and his voice crackled through the comms.

'I take it you ain't armed?'

Arlen shook his head. 'My weapon was confiscated when we got to Port Hanshan.'

'Figures.' Heiros nodded back down towards the passenger compartment. 'There's a sniper rifle and a pistol left over in the arms lockers. Snatch up what you can and-'

A shot rang out and one of the humans yelled in panic as it skipped off his shields. The barrier shimmered and wobbled for a moment before settling down while a straight blue line floated ethereally in the air, barely visible in the waning light.

The head of every man tracked the line to its source, somewhere far out in the encroaching wall of darkness.

'Contact!' the salarian shouted and as one, the team slid onto their bellies.

The quick-witted alien pointed to their distant right, directly away from the ship's flank. 'It came from our three o'clock, sniper round, I think!'

Heiros jerked his arm out in that direction. 'Spread out and form a line!'

No sooner had the order left his lips before more shots cracked out, hammering their position. Loud thuds cut through the wind as the rounds thumped heavily into the snow drift and the ERCS guards opened fire in response.

Heiros moved quickly, sliding down the shuttle's side and dropping off the end. After hitting the ground he looked back up to Arlen.

'Go!' he shouted over his shoulder. 'Grab the rifle and get moving!'

Arlen nodded and slipped into the shuttle. Already he could hear the distinctive crackles of rifle fire grow dense over the team's frequency as the fire fight intensified. Heiros' commands punctured the noise in brief spurts, his gravelled tone deadened by the incessant howling of the blizzard.

Unable to think clearly, Arlen removed his helmet but the noise still blared harshly through his suit speakers.

Keller approached him, frowning. 'What's going on? Why did everyone leave?'

'We're under attack,' he replied breathlessly. 'Whoever took this shuttle down has come back for us. We need to get outside and help Heiros with the defence. He said there's a rifle here. I went through advanced marksman training in boot camp so I'd prefer to take that.'

A loud cry of pain ripped through his radio, a moan of agony that chilled Arlen more than the snow outside ever could. He brought a hand to his ear and raised his voice desperately.

'Sergeant? What's going on?'

Static fizzed over the line, matching the storm roiling above their heads. They waited, each holding their breath for an answer.

'We've got a man down,' Heiros finally responded, though the note of resignation in his voice sent a spike of fear through Arlen's chest. 'There's at least a dozen from what I can see, maybe more. Arlen…we can't hold them off, there's too many and we're too exposed out here!'

'Just hold on!'

Arlen strode towards an open weapons container on the ground behind him and picked up the remaining contents.

The Mantis sniper rifle was light and sturdy, a reassuring weight in his hands. The white-framed body came alive at his touch in a series of whirs and beeps, sprouting a stock, scope and long black barrel in seconds.

'Fall back to the shuttle,’ he said. ‘We're coming out. If we lose this position we're finished.'

As he raised an arm to the hatch's edge, a thought crossed Arlen's mind and his eyes rested on Keller. The detective was growing visibly impatient at the delay and Arlen pre-empted her before she could speak.

'You don't have a helmet.'

'I'll be fine,' she replied stubbornly.

'You'll freeze,' he answered back. He took a step towards her to assert the decision but she straightened, matching his combative stance.

'You can’t expect me to stay here, not while you and Heiros hold them off by yourselves. What the hell would you do in my position?'

The response was instantaneous. Keller stumbled slightly as Arlen pressed his helmet into her hands and she looked down at it, her eyes wide.

'Your skin is far less durable than mine,' he said, though his gaze flickered uncertainly. 'At least, I think it is, but there's no time to argue. It won't be the most comfortable fit but you should still be able to get a tight seal around the neck.'

His expression was hard and unyielding. He would not be argued with, not on this. For a moment, Keller's features softened, shifting between anger and gratitude. Without warning, she wrapped a hand around Arlen's neck and pressed her lips to his cheek.

Her voice was a gentle hum that trickled into his ear. This time it was her turn to be adamant.

'Just promise me you'll take it back if the cold gets too much, all right? Promise me.'

Arlen closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of her lips on his skin, already fading fast. 'Okay. I promise.'

Keller bowed her head and leaned into the helmet, slipping it over her hair smoothly. She ran her fingers along the neckline and the seals kicked in, trapping the precious warmth in her suit.

Her head listed slightly as the strange weight and shape took hold, and despite everything, Arlen had to stifle a grin at how ridiculous she looked at that moment.

'If you take any pictures of this,' the detective remarked as Arlen reached up to the door once again, 'I _will_ kill you. Same goes for you, Petra.'

'No promises,' the AI teased over the suit's private channel.

Arlen hauled himself up and out into the storm once again. Immediately, the bitter air gripped his face with frozen jaws, refusing to yield.

He felt his skin tighten and he gasped as his lungs struggled to contend with the sudden drop in temperature. Without his helmet it was more unforgiving than he could have imagined.

Below him he could barely make out Heiros and his remaining guards. There were only three of them now and they fired into the blackness ahead, more out of sheer panic than any attempt at marksmanship.

Arlen gripped the Mantis and slid down the shuttle's side again, bending his legs in anticipation of the drop into the soft ground. When it came he almost toppled to his knees and only the fear of more snow caking his freezing skin forced him to stay upright.

Keller followed a moment later, thudding into the ground beside him. Ahead, Heiros shouted obscenities as his rifle chattered, cutting a glowing stream of blue fire into the night.

'Sergeant!' Arlen cried out. He pushed through the snow and settled on one knee next to Heiros.

The old turian threw him a glance, his concern obvious even with the helmet on. 'What the hell are you doing out here without your face covered, are you insane?'

The voice was barely audible over Arlen's suit speakers and he had to yell as loud as he could to be heard over the wind.

'Never mind about that! What's the situation?'

He noticed Heiros was drooping, his tone heavy with defeat. 'Like I said, there's too many. I'm down a man and we don't have long until these guys figure out there ain't that many of us, if they don't know already.'

Arlen screwed his eyes shut, shielding them from the storm. He felt lost, as if the ground was falling from under his feet. He didn’t know what to do except keep talking in the vain hope that something would happen.

'Look, I can take the high ground. I have the rifle, maybe I can flank them.'

'Arlen.'

Again, the Interceptor was struck by the lack of fire in Heiros’ voice. Arlen's lips quivered on the verge of speaking but Heiros would not give him the chance.

'Arlen, I want you to answer me this. Are these people after you? Are they after you and your friend?'

Arlen closed his eyes and exhaled, his breath leaving his lungs in a rush of grief.

'Yes. Yes, they are. We were attacked on Illium shortly before arriving here. I can't think of any other reason for all of this.'

There was no doubt about it in his mind and Heiros let out a soft grunt. Stray rounds whipped over their heads and bounced against the side of the shuttle with sharp clangs but the sergeant did not flinch.

After several long moments of thought, Heiros finally nodded. 'All right. The both of you need to go. Start running now and don't look back.'

'No!' Arlen shouted. 'No, I'm not letting you die, not for me!'

The old man chuckled. 'I'm dead either way. We can't stop them. The only thing you can do is start moving while you still can.'

'We're not just leaving you here!' Keller said insistently and leaned forward to grasp his arm. 'I can't have that on my conscience, not while-'

Her voice was snatched away by a sudden impact and her body jerked back violently through the air. Before anyone could react, she had hit the ground hard as if suddenly pulled into it, leaving a bloody smear across the snow.

Arlen opened his mouth to cry out.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Milo woke with a start. His eyes were two red circles that peered from bruised sockets, sore and irritated. His mouth stretched into a yawn as he rubbed them, making them sting and it slowly dawned on him that he was still sitting at his desk with his terminal glaring at him expectantly.

He scratched his bristled throat while his mind swam with thoughts that slipped through his fingers when he tried to grasp them. Time was a lucid, indistinct thing to him at that moment and his eyes felt gritty and raw as they swivelled to take in his surroundings.

The command centre seemed muted after Chellick's earlier display, with everyone doing their best not to earn his ire, especially after the threat made to Lina. It was a tension they all felt but nobody spoke of and everyone chose to ignore it as best they could to focus on their work.

Milo looked around slowly, his head still fuggy with exhaustion. He noticed the trickle of fresh faces travelling through the room as people returned after a few hours of snatched rest. They relieved thankful colleagues, who rose from their seats sluggishly to make way for the newcomers and spend a few treasured hours in their own beds.

Lina had organised the routine and already it was starting to pay off as new energy began to seep back into the command centre with every passing second.

The only ones to have stayed at their desks were the senior staff, along with some notable exceptions, including Milo himself. Gradually, clarity returned to his senses and he reached up to feel the soft, puffy skin around his eyes.

He’d never been so tired and he felt as if his body was wasting away as a result. He had always been lean and wiry but now his skin just looked pale and drawn, stretched thin across muscles that felt empty of strength.

Suddenly, two lean fingers gripped his shoulder and a white plastic cup was thrust before him. A dark line of water rocked gently inside and he eyed it keenly.

'At least _someone_ managed to get a couple of hours,' Lina said. The quarian sounded more tired than he did, and Milo winced as his voice rasped hoarsely from his throat.

'A couple of hours? I was out for that long?'

He took the water from Lina's hand and gulped eagerly. When he spoke again he sounded clearer, though no less weary.

'Why didn't anybody wake me?'

Lina shrugged. 'We've got people sleeping in shifts as it is and besides, things have quietened down a little. There wasn't any need to have both of us up at the same time.'

Milo pressed his knuckles into his eyes, forcing them into their sockets and he felt them burn anew at the contact.

'I had no idea I'd even dropped off. What time is it?' he asked, not bothering to check his terminal.

Stepping in front of him, Lina perched herself on the edge of his desk and let her legs dangle below her. 'It's almost six. Start of a whole new day.'

 _The sixth day, no less,_ Milo thought to himself with a grunt.

He took a long sip of water and felt a shudder as the cold liquid ran down his throat. It refreshed him but only a little and he knew tiredness would creep back in only a few minutes. Wiping his lips dry with the back of a hand, he stood up only to be assailed by a series of loud clicks as his body complained at the movement.

He frowned and stretched his arms forward to loosen his back and shoulders. 'What about you? You slept already?'

The terminal's glare played across Lina’s visor as she shook her head. 'No, not yet, I'm really not tired, not with everything that's been going on.'

Milo glanced at her dubiously. ‘If that’s the case then something’s seriously wrong. No one in this galaxy can push themselves as hard as you do and not feel tired.’

‘Something is seriously wrong, but nothing you need to worry about.’

Frowning, Milo opened his mouth to reply but Lina interrupted.

'I want you to continue looking into the virus,' she began again, crossing her arms against her chest. 'Arlen is due to report his findings from Peak Ten when he returns to Port Hanshan, at which point we'll give him and Keller their orders to take down Krassus. We already have Lorica working on a briefing dossier for Zorya, as well as trying to source some help out there. I know I'd prefer an STG team handling recon but since Chellick cut our ties to the Council, we've been given nothing to work with.'

'Yeah, what kind of a bullshit move was that?' Milo snorted angrily. 'As if we didn't have enough problems, now we're hiding things from the Council? I don't care what he says. If anyone gets wind of what we're doing here it won't just affect him. All our careers are on the line here.'

'Then again,' Lina added, 'if we catch Krassus and haul him up in front of the Council, I think they'd just about forgive Chellick anything.'

Milo rubbed his face roughly. 'All or nothing. I guess it's not so bad - if you're the gambling type.'

'You're not?'

He smiled, though his usual charisma was thickly buried under a blanket of fatigue.

'I sure as hell don't bet on a lame horse. Not to say I don't have confidence in Arlen or Keller. Considering what they've had to do over the past week I'm surprised they're still in one piece. Still, there's just too much we don't know, too much weird shit going on and,' he paused and his expression turned grim, 'and I still don't see how Arlen is going to be able to get to Krassus, not without help. The man has three centuries of soldiers at his command, that's at least two-hundred and forty Legion troops. Not to mention his base will be built like a fortress, or at the very least a defensive camp.'

Lina sighed. 'There won't be any help now that Chellick's cut everyone out of the loop. It’d be difficult enough for an asari commando team to assault the place, never mind a single agent.' She closed her eyes, revealing the depth of her worry. 'However you look at it, Arlen and Keller are being thrown to the wolves and there's nothing we can do about it.'

Milo nodded absently but did not answer. There was nothing to be added but more lamentations, and those wouldn’t help anyone.

Instead he turned his gaze over his shoulder, to Lorica's desk. The asari was still buried deeply in her work and only lifted her head from her terminal to pass a datapad to a colleague.

'Speaking of being cut out the loop,' he mumbled as he slumped heavily back into his seat, 'I've been thinking a lot lately.'

One of Lina's eyes narrowed as she cocked her brow. 'If this is going to be another cheap come-on, you can save your breath.'

'Oh, that's low!' he replied, throwing his arms up and rolling his eyes in exasperation. 'Come on, Lina, I'm being serious for once. I've been thinking a lot about Lorica and, you know, how she's been disappearing.'

'Yes? And?'

'And, well, don't you think the timings have been a little…' He trailed off and shuffled awkwardly in his seat.

Lina's fingers began to tap impatiently against her crossed arms. Milo knew that stern gesture well and shook his head, trying to force the words out.

'I've just been going over what's been happening in my head. We know Lorica has been acting funny lately and then she vanishes just as terrorists attack Illium. You don't think that's just a little strange, how the second she leaves the attack begins? And then there's Chellick…'

He saw Lina tense. 'What about him?'

'The way he spoke to you last night, not to mention the way he seems to be focusing on his own side of the investigation rather than overseeing what we're all doing? It…it just stinks. What you said yesterday, about it feeling like how some people seem to have their own agendas? I'm starting to see it now. It's like everyone here is hiding something. How the hell are we supposed to do our jobs if we can't even trust one another?'

Lina was silent for a time, as if turning a multitude of thoughts over in her head. Eventually she spoke, her voice a confiding murmur.

'I don't know, Milo. We can only do what we can. The only unforgivable thing would be if we gave up.'

Milo smiled. The expression was a canvas for all the exhaustion he felt and Lina shifted on the desk, clearly wanting to comfort him but uncertain as to how.

'I can't give up,' he said, holding her gaze, ‘and I won't let you down.'

Though Milo could not see it, the quarian's mouth had opened in surprise behind her helmet. She dipped her head for a moment and the silence stretched out as she searched for something to say.

Her head snapped up just as abruptly.

'Good,' she said brusquely, 'but you don't need to worry about me. I'll take what you've said into consideration and you'd better keep an eye out too, for anything that seems amiss or out of place. The last thing we need now is JSTF failing because of a few selfish individuals and their own petty secrets.'

As Lina’s pale eyes moved up they locked with Lorica's. The asari had glanced up momentarily from her work and she glared at Lina with open hostility, the sheer force of it turning the quarian’s gaze aside. She tried to act as if she hadn't noticed and addressed Milo again.

'Well,' she began shakily before taking command of herself, 'we'd better get back to work. Arlen should be arriving back at Port Hanshan any time now and then we can prepare to put this whole thing to rest.'

Milo nodded and Lina hopped off the desk, back onto her feet. Her legs wobbled as they landed and Milo laid a hand on her arm, steadying her.

She didn’t thank him but Milo didn’t mind. Curiously, he looked behind him to see Lorica still working away furiously, her head bowed.

He pursed his lips, thinking for a time before turning back to his own terminal, ready for another day.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Varn felt the snow crunch beneath his feet as he took careful steps over the flat whiteness.

Dark lines had been scored in the ground by weapons fire, crossing the surface like veins beneath pale skin. He could see the shuttle wreck sticking out of the ground ahead, a black silhouette against the faint background of mountains and ice shelves. A light still flickered halfway along its fuselage but in the gloom it was impossible to tell if there were any more survivors.

Though Varn scowled at having to bring down a shuttle belonging to ERCS, a turian security company, he knew it had to be done.

The helmet concealed his misgivings and he turned to address the centurion waiting anxiously beside him.

'Take Tarsus and Paraxian around the left flank, just in case they have more men waiting around the other side of the wreck.'

The centurion saluted and shouted over to two legionaries, drawing them over with a wave of his hand. Varn watched them jog steadily through the snow, through the curtain of wind-blasted ice and out into the darkness.

He cursed the storm under his breath. If it hadn't been for the blinding snow his snipers could have watched over the site from over a mile away.

Instead they had to rely on their own wits as heat-seeking equipment failed and their own joints froze through their armour. Planets like these were no place for a turian.

With his men spread into a loose line at either side of him, their weapons raised and senses sharp, Varn strode ahead confidently.

The resistance they’d met initially had suddenly and completely stopped a short time ago and he was certain they had either been killed or were waiting to surrender. An ambush was unlikely.

Varn did not let down his guard for a moment but the instinct was clear and gave him a unique sense of assurance. He had been through many battles, enough to read their ebbs and flows well enough to detect lulls in the fighting.

He could recognise that precious second when the enemy were one step from breaking and needed only a tiny push to send them into a rout. That moment had long since passed.

Varn paused as something brushed up against his foot and he looked down to see the murky grey armour of an ERCS guard lying face-down in the snow.

He was salarian, thin and rigid as the ravages of the frozen atmosphere gripped his corpse. There were more still shapes in the snow ahead, clustered around the base of the shuttle. Small spots dotted the ground around them and Varn recognised them as footprints, the pattern aimless and panicked.

Their enemy had only been a mere security team, no match for trained turian soldiers. Their confusion was to be expected.

He kept count of the bodies as he walked. Though Lorik Qi'in had ignored the Legion's attempts to contact him, General Krassus was no fool. The monitoring devices the general had had implanted on Qi'in's terminal long ago had tracked the shuttle authorisation, as well as the request for additional security.

Though Varn longed to put a round in the traitor's skull, there was little to be gained from vengeance at this point, certainly too little to risk direct exposure. He knew there were seven lives to end that night and those would be enough.

Under his helmet, Varn frowned. There were only four bodies.

He glanced briefly to where the shuttle had knifed into the soft snow and dismissed the pilot as lost. That left only two more.

'Tribune!' came a shout to his right. A legionary came to a stumbling halt in front of Varn, sending a dusting of snow over his armour. 'Sir, we've secured the site. No more survivors.'

'What about the C-Sec dogs?' Varn growled. 'There are two Citadel Security officers here and I want them found.'

Another voice cut into the channel and Varn recognised it as the centurion he had sent on ahead.

'Sir, we've got tracks around the other side of the wreck, a single set but they're deep and misshapen, like they were carrying something heavy. The prints are recent but the storm's done a good job of covering them up. They'll be impossible to track in this weather.'

This time, Varn swore loudly enough for the men around to freeze and watch their leader nervously.

'This is unacceptable! I want them found!'

'But Sir,' the centurion groaned, 'the snow's too thick and we’re losing light fast! We have to wait until morning and take the shuttle out. Besides, in this weather they're as good as dead anyway!'

Varn yelled out and wrung his hands in frustration. He knew there was no point in arguing further. The hunt would have to wait.

The legionaries looked at one another in mute misery, well aware that until the bodies were found they would remain on that frozen world, aching with cold for the entire duration.

Suddenly, a cry of alarm brought their heads and weapons up.

Varn swung around to face the soldier who had shouted and saw him kneeling next to one of the dead guards. The tribune's eyes widened as he saw an arm move weakly, reaching for a weapon that had long since vanished.

Varn grunted to himself. Not quite dead yet.

As he walked over to them the wind swelled, carrying a fresh weight of snow that he powered through with a grunt. By the time he reached the kneeling legionary, his silver armour was caked with patches of faded white and he reached up to scratch the ice from his visor.

'What is it, Legionary?' he snapped.

The young turian motioned towards the guard. 'This one's still alive and Sir, look!'

Varn narrowed his eyes and saw what the legionary was referring to.

Though the blizzard had already half-buried him, Varn could clearly see the fallen guard was a turian. He had suffered a wound to his side and seemed only vaguely aware of his surroundings as he grasped feebly at the air.

The tribune let out an irritated mutter. In spite of everything else, he couldn’t let one of his own people endure a slow, freezing agony.

If anything, the guard deserved the honour of a quick death but another idea occurred to him. He stood and waved over another three of his men.

'Give this one some medigel,' he said as they approached, 'and see him safely aboard the shuttle for the return to Zorya.'

The legionary beside him rose to his feet. 'Not to question you, Sir, but are you sure about this? Isn't he an enemy?'

'No turian is our enemy,' Varn answered.

He turned to the shuttle and stared past it, to where his quarry lay somewhere in the vast blackness of the night.

'It's the Legion's duty to turn all of our people back to the true path. No matter how misguided they may seem.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

As the final traces of light disappeared from Noveria's sky, Arlen could rely only on what he felt under his feet for guidance. 

The snow gave way under his weight with each step and even if darkness hadn’t swallowed his vision, he would not have dared look down for fear of seeing how far into the white mass he was sinking.

It felt as if each footfall was meeting less and less resistance as time went on, though even the concept of time itself was meaningless in the dark.

The hours that passed could have been minutes for all he knew. All he could do was somehow keep moving until he stopped, until his body finally gave out on him and he fell.

He felt Keller stir in his arms. Her hands still gripped his neck weakly, all her strength focused into holding on to him.

The sniper round had taken her in the left thigh and Arlen still remembered the single moment of horror he’d felt as he saw her fall to the ground.

There was so much blood and he had felt helpless. She had been unable to stand, let alone walk and Arlen suppressed a surge of grief as he recalled Heiros' actions when he'd realised what had happened.

The old man had leapt upon Keller immediately and used his own medigel supply to stabilise her but even then, her survival was not guaranteed. A lot of blood had been lost and the cold was ruthless, a thing that revelled in picking off the weak and wounded.

'You don't have a choice,' the sergeant had said. 'Take her and go. If you stay, you're both dead.'

A final look of resistance had flashed through his eyes then as he found new resolve.

'I'll make sure they can't come after you.'

In the choking blackness of the night, make all the closer by the suffocating, ice-packed winds of the blizzard, Arlen wanted to weep. He relented, knowing the tears would practically snap-freeze in his eyes.

His craggy features were bleached of colour, matched by the coiling mist that blossomed from his mouth with each struggling breath.

He hadn’t moved a muscle in his face for what felt like an age. He could not feel anything and it would have terrified him had he not felt so numb.

He knew the likelihood was that he would die there, in an endless field of snow on a world far from his home. Only the warm weight in his arms kept him going.

Braving the agony of movement, Arlen tilted his head down to look at Keller.

She was lighter than he'd expected, even in armour. His helmet was still securely fastened to her neck, keeping the warmth inside her suit and the shape looked awkward on her human body. Still, he could almost imagine her as a fellow turian.

Perhaps he’d expected the thought to bring a strong welling of attraction within him but it did not. In fact, he found himself spurred on anew by the longing to see her smooth skin and bright eyes once again before the end.

The heat of her lips on his cheek was still there. He preserved it, drew strength from it, keeping the sensation alive while the rest of his senses slowly failed, one by one.

His breathing had grown hoarse, his thoughts listless. He felt the thin gurgling of fluid in his lungs, brought on by the cold and growing worse with every minute. He could barely even see. The world around him was a kaleidoscope of blurred grey and dark blue, with a soft horizon of pale, moonlit turquoise.

The moon. He couldn't look up to see if it was truly there but its presence could only mean the blizzard had begun to ease. It was true that he couldn’t feel the sting of the wind any more but he knew his sense of touch could not be trusted. It had been deadened by the tortuous cold, frozen into uselessness.

'Come on,' he told himself. 'Come on, come on,' he repeated, over and over again under his frosting breath.

He didn’t know if he was actually speaking the words or if they were just a dull rumbling from his throat. Keller stirred at the sound but did not answer. Instead, her arms wound their way a fraction tighter around his neck.

Arlen closed his eyes. He wanted to drift away, to return to the boot camp back on Palaven and he allowed his thoughts to wander back through the murky past, as if searching for the warmth of the turian home planet.

Those final months had been some of the greatest of his life. He had earned the respect of his training platoon, proving the arrogant homeworld-born of his worth through excellence alone. He had worked harder than any of them, pushing himself to achieve the highest scores in anything he undertook.

For that, he could thank his father. The training he had been given was the edge he had needed. It had given him something more than all the other recruits combined. It had made him iron-hard before he'd even started. It was those memories he called upon now, to give him the strength to simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The ground under him grew firmer. He no longer sank into the snow, struggling for each precious inch.

He barely registered the change. His entire body was a lifeless lump of flesh that operated on muscle reflex alone. The winds moaned around him, dragging a thin mist of ice across his ankles. It clung low to the ground, rushing in sweeping waves across the snow field.

How far had he come? How long had he been walking? The questions were brief flashes of meek activity that were quashed by the dead weight his mind had become.

The cold was the only constant. He could only go on.


	30. Chapter 30

 

A dull shape emerged from the darkness. 

At first Arlen thought it was a trick of the mind, or simply a large mound of snow, no different than the dozens he had passed already. If it hadn’t been so distinct as to gather the feeble remnants of his curiosity, he might have passed it by entirely.

It took a long time before he realised the squat, pale mass was made of stone. Even when he did, there was little joy or relief. His emotions were almost non-existent, as if his body had discarded them just to save its strength.

He was a mere husk of a being as he trudged slowly towards the building, unblinking and unfeeling.

The sky was beginning to turn grey in the east, lightening the sky and highlighting the craggy mountains on the horizon. Arlen could see the structure ahead stood on a ridge, high above his head. Long, metallic antennae jutted from its roof, reminding him of an insect as they twitched in the breeze and his body matched their shuddering movements.

There was little cover around him and the winds had picked up again, promising another snow storm. Grunting, he hefted Keller's weight, shifting it to relieve the aches in his arms and shoulders.

She had long since passed into unconsciousness, her body growing limp. He’d been forced to stop several times already just to ensure she was still breathing and every time he did, it brought a pang of fear and tension as he held her close and waited for the tell-tale puff of warmth against his face.

The thought of finding shelter for her was a final seed of motivation, the last thing he needed to make the final push.

Grinding his teeth, Arlen started to climb the hill. His legs burned instantly and he stumbled as loose snow shifted beneath his feet. Panting with effort, he leaned into the slope, knowing that if he fell he would not rise again.

The ice on his exposed skin cracked as he gasped aloud, spilling white fog into the air. Every part of his body was in agony but he took solace in the pain.

While he was hurting, he was still alive.

He was pushing against the wall of his endurance. He felt it, a true physical barrier that he struggled against, his strength and hope thrashing desperately against it. He didn’t notice the edge of the ridge pass beneath his feet and his legs buckled as he lost his balance.

Arlen sank to his knees, fighting for breath. The land cared nothing for him and it howled its indifference, throwing eddies of snow around him as he stared at the ground blankly.

He couldn't go on. The building ahead promised shelter from the wind, and it was so very close. Still, his body would not respond. He screamed at it inwardly but the only sign was a pained wince that stung his skin mercilessly.

He would not drop her, though. Even if he could not rise to his feet, he would use the last of his strength to keep Amanda in his arms.

The sweeping gales churned around them and Arlen closed his eyes, waiting for the peace of death. He just wanted to rest, even if it meant never waking up.

He waited.

'What are you doing?'

The voice was high and synthesised, and tinged with frustration.

'Petra?' Arlen rasped weakly, his eyes snapping open. His mouth barely moved and his mandibles felt like they were frozen in place.

'Yes, it’s Petra, as if there’s anyone else here!'

The omni-tool's light was hidden by Keller's body but Arlen could see a faint, orange pulse on the ground with each word the AI spoke.

'Arlen, what do you think you're doing? You can't stop here.'

Arlen dared not close his eyes again and he dipped his head as he answered. 'I…can't go on. I can't move, I…I can't even feel my legs.'

'Don't give me that!' the AI cried out against the wind. 'The structure ahead, I'm detecting a faint power source inside. I think it's an emergency bunker! Arlen, if you move now you can make it!'

'I can't do it. And even if I could, what's the point?' He cringed with the pain of failure. Even the simple act of talking was eating away at the last of his reserves. 'Nobody knows we're here. We'll only survive another day or two before hunger and thirst kills us just as surely as the cold will. We're finished.'

'So you're not even going to try? You're just going to stay here on your knees until you die? Until Detective Keller dies?'

Arlen could not bring himself to say yes, though he couldn’t think of an alternative either. He lifted his head up and his gaze settled on the bunker.

So close, and yet what good would it do? It was so easy to let himself drift away into darkness. The frozen air had stolen his senses, so that it only hurt when he moved. If he stayed perfectly still, in that position, he could float off into slumber, without another care.

A spiking pain jumped through his suit and he yelled out as his body jerked in reflex. His shields flashed brightly for a heartbeat, flaring into a white ball before dimming just as quickly.

The pain was fleeting but the surprise shocked him into wakefulness.

'What the hell was what?'

Petra's reply was slow and deliberate, with a note of smugness that sent a very different kind of chill down Arlen's spine.

'Your omni-tool has an Overload suite built in, among other things,' she said. 'I simply inverted the power surge and reduced the current by thirty per cent. Just enough to give you a little motivation.'

Arlen glared at his omni-tool.

'Motivation?' he growled angrily. 'You call overloading my shields and scaring the crap out of me 'motivation'?'

He could sense her wicked smile. 'Yes. I think you'd better stand up and get moving, unless you want another!'

Arlen gnashed his teeth in fury and with a groan of effort he called upon the last of his strength to pull himself from the ground. His knees wobbled but, slowly, they did their work.

He used the momentum to stagger forward. His steps ground the hard snow and ice noisily under his boots but his heart gradually lifted as he saw a doorway emerge in the side of the bunker. It had been opened a long time ago and left that way but he didn’t care. There would be no more wind, no more snow inside.

Suddenly, he began to laugh. It started as a weak click in his throat and built in volume, until the sound carried through the rushing winds. He could not help it.

'What's so funny?' Petra asked.

Arlen did not answer immediately. His gaze had softened, his eyes becoming clearer as he watched the shelter inch closer with each step. He thought carefully about his reply and it came haltingly, interrupted by his uncontrollable laughter.

'Nothing, I just…if someone had told me a week ago that I'd be marching through a snow field on Noveria, carrying an unconscious human with an AI electrocuting me all the way with my own omni-tool, I…I don't think I'd have had an answer for that.'

Petra found herself chuckling, then laughing as the absurdity of their situation became clear to her. Her voice joined Arlen's, their sudden merriment an oddly misplaced thing in the empty wasteland.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Administrator Bel Anoleis' breathing slowed to a standstill. The salarian's thin head bobbed slightly above his expensive suit of gold-trimmed blue, and his pale violet skin was still flushed from what he had read. 

His wet black eyes swivelled in their sockets. The information on his terminal was accurate, of that he now had no doubt. At first he'd been cautious, perhaps even afraid. Of course he had. Noveria was the envy of the corporate galaxy and its clientele had many enemies willing to commit acts of industrial espionage with the walls of Port Hanshan.

Anoleis had to suspect everything that crossed his desk, no matter how trivial. One mistake, one oversight and the executive board would have his job.

For the first time in an hour, the administrator made a sound as a knowing snort escaped his lips. If he was lucky, that would be all they'd take from him.

He eyed the olive-skinned woman in front of him cautiously. Her hair had been tied back into a shining black knot, flawless in its precision like the rest of her appearance. Her cherry-red dress clung to her figure restrictively, and again there was a symmetry in it that spoke of someone who paid attention to every detail, no matter how small.

 _Such things are ideal in a personal assistant,_ thought Anoleis. Still, there were questions to be asked.

'I must say, this is the first time I've ever had my secretary bring this sort of information to my attention. Not to mention after only seven days in my employ.'

Gianna Parasini's dark eyes searched him mechanically before her glossy red lips parted.

'I'm very thorough, Mister Anoleis, as you can see. The alert was brought up by our accounts team and, though they're still looking into the nature of the transaction, it's obvious there’s something untoward going on.'

'Indeed.' Anoleis reached out across his desk with a spindly hand and picked up the datapad that Parasini had placed there a minute ago. He looked at it casually, far more so than he felt. 'It’s not every day five million credits are transferred to a Port Hanshan employee. I assume the parties in question have been contacted?'

Parasini nodded. 'The most obvious one is on his way as we speak. I had the impression he was not entirely impressed at having been woken at this hour.'

With a subtle smirk, Anoleis turned his gaze to the window at his left. It was enormous, covering the upper half of the wall in black-gridded panes that allowed the murky grey light of the pre-dawn to wash over the office.

He had been awake for several hours already and felt nothing but contempt for the other species' need to laze about in indolence while precious time trickled away.

Still, there were advantages. He would be fresh and clear-headed while his guest would have to rub his tired eyes and force the fog of sleep from his mind.

'Let him be unimpressed,' he snapped. 'I'll have my answers, no matter what time I choose to see him. Under the circumstances, he should be grateful I've made the effort to see him at all.'

After taking a second to forward the information on the datapad to a different location, he offered it back to Parasini.

'Destroy it. I won't have this information leaked all over Noveria while I'm in charge.'

The human took her cue and bowed slightly before striding away. The clicks of her heels could be heard for several moments before the office door closed, choking off the sound.

Now he was alone, Anoleis frowned. There were so many questions to ask and yet, like anything else on Noveria, there was so much risk involved. The situation would require a delicate hand or the administrator would find a good deal of those questions directed back at him.

The intercom on his desk beeped and he traced the button with a finger before pressing it.

'Send him in.’

Anoleis heard the approaching footsteps and used the precious few remaining seconds to review the information he had. He couldn’t keep the terminal open, not with its transparent screen displaying his sources for everyone to see. He had to appear calm, as if he had been considering the implications of his discovery for a long time before summoning his guest.

The terminal closed with a quiet click and the tapping of expensive shoes brought Anoleis' eyes on Lorik Qi'in as he strode into the office.

As expected, the turian held himself straight and rigid, as ever the picture of turian discipline and strength. It was a frivolity Anoleis had always despised in him.

'Take a seat,' the administrator offered with a slight wave of his hand.

Qi'in took his time, letting his eyes wander. The office was situated on the lowest of Port Hanshan's tiers, and was as dull and bare of the trappings of personality as its owner. Suddenly aware that several moments had passed in suspicious silence, Qi'in took a seat opposite Anoleis with a gracious grin.

The salarian sat up straight, his fingers clasped together to form a bony peak. His horns were dark and roughly textured, like two curling spikes of volcanic rock, and they traced circles in the air as he held himself as still as he could.

Air hissed from his nostrils and Qi'in fought to hide his obvious impatience. He knew Anoleis would have to speak first, and the administrator could almost see the wheels turning in Qi’in’s mind, trying to anticipate his every word.

Anoleis stared at him a little longer before finally speaking.

'You'll forgive me if I keep this as brief as possible. I rarely have the time to accommodate our important clients, let alone those who think they can bypass our financial regulations with thinly-disguised Citadel protocols.'

Qi'in released a quiet breath but did not answer. Anoleis' statement was intentionally vague and he hoped to prompt the turian into revealing his guilt immediately.

Anoleis' brow twitched subtly in irritation at the silence but continued calmly. 'I have a responsibility to the executive board to ensure all transactions made by our corporate clients conform to interstellar finance law. Stern questions start getting asked when those laws are skirted and a recent deposit was flagged up less than an hour ago by the NDC's financial security monitoring programs.'

'Why, Administrator,' Qi'in replied smoothly, 'whatever do you mean? All funds are declared in advance by Synthetic Insights' corporate offices. If there has been a breach of these rules I would be just as eager to hear the truth of the matter as you.'

'So you have no knowledge of the credit transfers made to your corporate account?'

'You said the transactions came from the Citadel? I'm a personnel manager, not a sales rep. Any and all deals made by SI are brokered by far more important men than I. Clearly there must have been an oversight, a case of the accounts department making a wayward keystroke.'

He opened his mouth before Anoleis could speak again, filling the room with his warm, flanging tones.

'In fact, unless you've already jumped to your own conclusions, I wonder why you have dragged me across Port Hanshan to see you. Surely there are more discreet procedures, considering the margin for error?'

'Five million credits, Lorik,' Anoleis stated flatly, 'for that sum, the margin of error must be as wide as the Aleutsk Valley.'

The turian shrugged. 'Even more reason to assume the obvious. There has been a mistake and I will lodge a formal appeal against any charges brought before me.'

The sun chose that moment to reveal itself. Thin lines of faded gold appeared along the edges of Anoleis' desk, spreading until everything glowed.

It did nothing to break the stares of the two men as they held each other's eyes. In the stillness, Anoleis could see every small twitch in Qi’in’s body, as if each one brought the fear of discovery with it. Even his breath reeked of expensive liquor.

After many achingly long seconds, the salarian relaxed, leaning back in his chair.

'I think we both know how that will go. You will be forced by your superiors to take a leave of absence during the course of the investigation, that is, if they don't fire you on the spot.' Qi'in spread his mandibles to protest but Anoleis cut him off. 'I think we can speak in plain terms here. The executive board are always swift to act against those who rock the boat. Is that how the ridiculous human expression goes?'

'I believe it's 'stir the boat',' Qi'in replied tersely, 'and you do not frighten me, Administrator.' Unbidden, the turian rose from his seat, scraping it across the ground noisily. 'If you wish to continue withholding this 'evidence' of my corruption, then I suggest you forward it to the relevant authorities at once. They don't look kindly on people using such information for their own personal gain. Either that or drop the matter. Blackmail is a tricky business when the blackmailer himself is none too clean.'

The breath caught in Anoleis’ lungs.

‘I don’t know what you’re implying, but-’

‘Do you think I’d work for a loathsome tadpole like you without ensuring all my bases are covered?’ Qui’in interrupted, returning the administrator’s glare with a quiet intensity. ‘Trust me, Administrator, this is one pyjack hole you don’t want to chase me down.’

Anoleis' eyes widened as Qi'in turned his back to him and walked away, leaving a crushing, fearful silence behind him.

 _How dare he,_ Anoleis fumed. The last thing he had expected was for Qi'in to call his bluff and he now felt cold and drained as anger bled all other sensations from his body.

He now realised what Qi'in had left him with; a threat that could damage Anoleis' reputation as much as his own if the truth came to light.

Suddenly, Anoleis found calm. His chest settled and a wily grin spread his fleshy lips.

 _No,_ he told himself. Qi'in may have decided to make an enemy that day, but there were still five million credits sitting in a quarantined account, just waiting for Anoleis to make a decision.

His fingers drew together into a contemplative steeple once more. The money would do very well finding its way into an NDC slush fund. After he had taken a small slice, of course.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The quiet in the bunker was so absolute that Arlen was almost convinced he’d gone deaf in the night. 

Only the constant chatter from Petra assured him otherwise, her voice ringing shrilly to rise above the constant breeze running through the empty building.

'And I you wouldn't believe what I saw,' she nattered as Arlen stumbled through the stone corridors, 'I saw some files on projects like a mass accelerator fuelled by batarian ale, shielding technology that cloaked people from sight, and even reports of a rachni egg being recovered by Binary Helix! Can you imagine what the Council would say if they knew?'

Arlen was barely listening. For the past seven minutes, the AI had been regaling him with stories of her trip through Noveria's internal networks as she’d worked to secure his transmission to Lina back in Peak Ten.

No doubt an investigative journalist or conspiracy theorist would have found her words fascinating but he couldn’t have cared less at that moment, and spoke only to ask the one question that was on his mind.

'Petra, can I ask you something?'

She ceased her rambling to mumble quizzically. 'Mmm?'

'Why in the name of the spirits do you choose now to talk my ear off after a whole night without saying a word?'

He tried to keep his voice even but a trace of pained indignation was present all the same.

Thankfully, Petra either chose to ignore it or excused the sentiment, understanding how close he was to falling from exhaustion. He was glad she recognised an organic's tendency to speak bluntly under stress but still, her guilt was obvious.

'Lots of reasons,' she mumbled timidly, 'like power, for one. Omni-tools do have batteries, you know. Didn't think it would be wise to waste power unnecessarily but now you can recharge from power supply inside this bunker and there's no need to be conservative. Also, I was busy keeping an eye on your vitals, and Detective Keller's. And, well…'

She paused and Arlen's feet slid to a halt.

'And what?'

'I was…afraid,' she finished. 'I didn't know what to say, just wanted to hide and hope you would find a way to save us all. When I saw you almost give up, I knew I couldn’t remain silent any longer.'

The simple admission made Arlen blink in surprise. 'I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd…that is…'

His lips worked against him, fumbling with words he should have had ready. He did not want to say that he didn't expect a computer to be scared of anything.

'It's okay,' she replied, 'I understand. Better keep moving. There should be a sick bay around here somewhere.'

The ice that made Arlen’s armour stiff was beginning to thaw in the relative warmth of the shelter. Water pattered as it fell in fat drops from his mandibles and his eyes ached as they were finally allowed to blink. Every muscle in his body cried out both in pain and relief at the prospect of finally being able to rest.

 _No,_ he told himself as he quashed those voices. _There’s still too much to do._

The smell of stagnant dust and water was strong in his nostrils as he pushed his feet through melting slush. The trickling echoed, carrying far down the passages of cold stone. Other details became clear as his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom, revealed as the light from his omni-tool wrapped itself around everything he passed.

The ceiling curved into an arch and lengths of black cables ran down it, hanging in loose bundles where the bolts and rivets holding it in place had rusted away.

It was clear the bunker had been some sort of remote observation post at some point, and yet the architecture bore none of the hallmarks of construction by a Council race. It was far more permanent than the pre-fabricated cabins Arlen had come to expect from human colonial settlements and showed nothing of the grace of the asari design aesthetics, or the efficiency of the salarians'.

He could only wonder who had built the shelter, and what they were observing at the time.

Another open doorway lay at the end of the corridor and he passed through without hesitation. In the gentle glow of his omni-tool, Arlen's eyes glittered at the sight of a large room packed with instruments and long-dead consoles.

Again, he was immediately struck by the uniqueness of his surroundings. The walls were no longer bare and dull, but made of pearly, cream-hued tiles arranged in grids along every surface.

His awe did not last long, however, as his gaze fell upon a low, flat table in the centre. He made for it immediately, ignoring the noisy clattering of the equipment and machinery he knocked aside in his haste.

With a loud grunt, he hefted Keller up before gently lowering her onto the table. He coursed with new energy as his tortured arms were freed of their burden and he set about trying to make the unconscious detective as comfortable as possible.

His eyes darted to her thigh. The dark grey armour had been penetrated, leaving a clean, round hole in the plating surrounded by fine, web-like cracks. His breath hissed and misted up the gleaming surface as he pressed closer to inspect the damage.

Heiros' medigel had sealed the wound well, forming a barrier not only over the flesh but also the gaps in Keller's armour, trapping the heat in her suit. Arlen knew it had saved her life and he closed his eyes in a brief pang of grief for the old sergeant.

'Don't leave her on her back,' Petra interrupted. 'Her tongue could fall back and obstruct her airway. Need to keep it clear.'

'What do you suggest?' Arlen asked, his voice thick with fatigue and worry.

'Wound is sterile and there's no bleeding. She can be left alone, though you'll need to keep a regular eye on her condition. Raise one of her legs, so the knee points towards the ceiling.' She waited patiently as he complied. 'Good. Now take the arm from the same side, that's it, and now use your other hand to pull down on the knee and gently roll her onto her side.'

Keller's limp body rocked in place for a moment as Arlen paused, his expression thoughtful.

'Should…should I remove her helmet?'

'Probably best to leave it,' Petra answered. 'She needs all the warmth she can get in this climate. Transfer me to her omni-tool when we're done and I'll keep a close eye on her.'

Nodding, Arlen crushed his selfish longing to see Keller's face again and followed Petra's instructions to the letter, carefully manoeuvring the detective into a position that would not do her any harm if left unattended.

It was necessary, he knew. As the cold gradually fled his system, releasing its hold on his senses he found he could think more clearly and he now knew that if they stood any chance of survival, much had to be done. Neither of them could afford to have him watching over her while they slowly died of hunger and thirst.

The awkward shape of the turian helmet hindered him at first as he adjusted her arms and legs, ensuring there was adequate circulation to her limbs, but he was quickly satisfied as he gazed down at her.

Even in her stillness, he could feel Keller's strength, her will to survive. He wouldn’t let it go to waste.

A row of sleek, sterile-looking work surfaces lined one of the far walls. Arlen moved to them quickly and began to lay down anything and everything he had carried away from the crash site.

Much of it had either been lost or deliberately dropped during the night to conserve energy and the small pile of omni-gel tubes, ration packs and rough, chalky hexi-blocks seemed almost pathetic to him.

With a start, he recalled the proximity charges Olansi had given him back on Omega and added the pair of silvery discs to the collection.

Finally, he laid out the Mantis rifle. He cursed their luck that Keller had been holding their only pistol when she fell, then his own lack of sense at not having picked it up before fleeing.

Shaking his head, Arlen ignored those silly doubts. He had been frantic when he saw her collapse and there was no way he could have remembered everything. Berating himself over the small details was pointless and he told himself that should he survive, the lesson would be learned.

For a moment he recalled a time back on the Citadel, when he’d stood with Garrus in a wards clinic after fighting Crixus. He grimaced at the thought of how he had whined and complained over his failings, and once again considered Garrus' advice on the matter. The thoughts carried him as his hands worked automatically, sifting through the equipment.

He could see how sound the advice was now. He had learned from his mistakes, growing stronger every time. The lessons of his father had been easier to recall with each battle, the instincts Renius had instilled within him easier to draw from in the heat of conflict. All he had to do was survive long enough to make those instincts count.

With a twitch of his brow, he realised how much he wished Garrus was there with him. His humour and experience was sorely needed.

It took a long time for Arlen to realise he had paused, paralysed by his own contemplations. He shook his head again, harder than before, and willed himself to focus.

A sniper rifle, two proximity mines and perhaps forty-eight hours' worth of survival kit lay in front of him.

It was too little. He would have to scavenge what he could from the bunker. He hardened his gaze and turned back to Keller.

'Do you think we'll make it?' he asked aloud, the question sounding empty as it echoed throughout the quiet room.

Petra's reply was as optimistic as she could make it. 'If we don't, I'll either be stuck here alone for centuries or the Legion will find me. Honestly, I don’t know which one I'd prefer.'

Arlen surprised himself by laughing. 'I guess you're right. You know, I've been meaning to ask. Is it just me or have you gotten more…eloquent? Since we took you from Omega, I mean. You seem to be speaking more coherently.'

His omni-tool glowed bright as Petra hummed thoughtfully. 'I don't know. I've been studying your speech patterns a lot lately. Well, not just yours, everyone's. Detective Keller uses many, many colloquialisms, and not all of them have names in other languages but still useful. Lina was easy to understand. In fact, she taught me much about proper way to speak to people. Stopped addressing you by your species and gender, for one. I didn’t realise how much these 'manners' mattered to organics.'

'I _had_ been meaning to ask,' Arlen said with a smile

 He turned from the table and began to poke and lift anything that was loose around him in his search for something useful. If it could burn, it would be vital to their survival.

'Have you picked up anything else?' he asked.

'I'm always learning, even from small things,' she said. 'I haven't had much time to analyse them since leaving that dark place back on Omega but if you win then perhaps I will be able to study more. When I was alone I used to wonder what purpose organic races served. For me, they existed only to poke and cut, to tell me to do things. When you arrived, though and after seeing what you have done, I think I'm starting to see your purpose.'

'And what is that, exactly?' he asked as he turned to search the room.

'You help. Not all of you do, of course, but seeing you and Detective Keller, Lina, it is good to be with people who try to help. It makes me want to help too.'

A loud thud resounded as a console casing was removed from the wall and Arlen grunted quietly in frustration at the lack of anything useful. Petra spoke again and he paused at the hesitation in her voice.

'Arlen, I'd like to ask you something.' It was not a request but he did not mind, and he waited patiently for her to continue as he worked. 'How do you feel, knowing I'm part of the thing you're trying to stop?'

The turian traced a long-dead light fixture with his armoured fingertips. 'What do you mean?'

'I was created in the laboratory of Bithcon Dynamics, from the very virus code Lorik Qi'in stole from Synthetic Insights. We don't even know how if my own Fusion Directives have been implanted. Aren't you worried that I will betray you?'

The question gave Arlen pause. His mandibles twitched as he mulled it over and he crossed the room, his body continuing without his mind.

'I suppose I'd be lying if I said no,' he replied, 'but you've already proven yourself in my eyes. You helped me find Bashik in Torkessa, and you kept my communications safe while in Port Hanshan and Peak Ten. You picked me up when I was ready to throw in the towel on Illium, and again just outside this bunker.'

For a moment, his lips curled into a grin. 'Without you, I wouldn't be alive, Petra. If that's not enough for me to trust you, I don't know what is.'

Though he couldn’t see it, Petra matched his smile with one of her own.

'Thank you. I needed to hear that.'

Arlen did not need to add anything further. Instead he turned his mind to the inevitable task of preparing a defensive position outside the bunker.

Someone had spent much effort trying to kill them, both on Noveria and Illium, and it was likely they would be tracked down in short order. He felt a tug of fear in his chest at the thought of being trapped there, even more powerful than the dread of setting foot in the numbing snow once again.

Swallowing, Arlen tried to put both thoughts out of his mind. He would be ready for whatever came.

 _Turians never break,_ he told himself repeatedly as he plucked the proximity mines from the table.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Lorica looked up at the sound of approaching feet and immediately forced her eyes back down to her work. 

Her hands increased their already exhaustive pace as they pieced together an intelligence docket on Zorya, more than a hundred fragments of history and leaked intelligence reports on the planet, all melded to provide the most accurate account of what they could expect.

She tried to pretend Milo was not there as he cleared his throat at her side.

He waited, then after a few moments without so much as an acknowledgement of his presence the human rubbed the back of his neck and placed a datapad in front of her.

'New antivirus updates, fresh in from Network. Lina wants them transferred to Arlen as soon as he makes contact.'

'Right,' Lorica replied curtly. 'Is that all?'

Milo frowned at her clipped tone but he went on. 'For now. but Lina's worried about him. He hasn't reported in for nearly eight hours. He should've gotten back to Port Hanshan before midnight local time but so far we haven't heard a peep from him.'

'What about Chellick?' Lorica asked, her hands pausing in their work. 'What does he say?'

Milo shook his head. 'He hasn't said a damn thing. He holed himself up in his office last night and nobody's seen him come out. After what he said to Lina…after what he said to all of us, nobody's dared to go up and talk to him.'

Lorica's features softened at the worry in his voice but she still did not look at him. 'I'm sure you and Lina will manage. You two seem to make a pretty good team.'

'We're all a team here, baby,' he said warmly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice was smooth and his fingers squeezed gently, willing her to relax and speak to him.

Lorica released a deep breath under his touch and her eyes closed slowly, her cheeks shifting as she visibly struggled with battling emotions.

Then, to Milo's chagrin, she moved aside. The fingers slipped from her shoulder as she turned and rose from her chair, and Milo gripped her sleeve firmly, earning a fierce glare.

'Let go,' she hissed. Her eyes were hard with anger but Milo's lips thinned, his own frustration seeping through.

'No, not until I get some answers.' Milo stared at her and the noise of the command centre fell away from around them both, isolating them. 'I'm getting sick of this shit, Lorica. You've been ducking me for the past three days, and with the way you've been acting it's making everyone suspicious.'

The asari narrowed her eyes coolly. 'What are you talking about? What do you mean “the way I've been acting”?'

Milo took a moment to glance about him. 'It's no secret you've been leaving your station, and after the way you screwed up with the Illium op let's just say a few eyebrows have been raised.'

Lorica's mouth twisted and she tried to wrench her arm from Milo's grip. He was determined to finish, however, and clung to her sleeve tightly.

'Now if you don't want to tell me what's going on, that's fine. I don't care about myself. It's you I'm worried about and I can't just stand by and watch as you throw your career away!'

He blinked as he realised Lorica was trembling. Her lips quivered and the blue skin of her throat tightened against something, perhaps rage; maybe even guilt.

'I suppose Lina told you to keep an eye on me?' she asked. Her voice was shaken and the raw sound of it weakened Milo's grip on her. 'Sure, why not? The quarian's got everyone else on her side. If she said the Council were behind the whole thing we'd be marching over to the chambers right now to arrest them.'

Closing his eyes, Milo tried to control his exasperation. 'Now you're just being crazy. Lina cares about you too. She just wants the whole team at their best and she knows that whatever's going on here, it's affecting your performance. I don't know what you're implying but to me it just sounds like you're jealous of her.'

'Jealous?' Lorica spat. 'Of her? She's nothing but a…a damned suit-rat, a filthy beggar, nothing more!'

Milo's mouth twitched subtly. He released her arm roughly, jerking it forward and his reply was almost a snarl.

'She's the only person holding us all together right now. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own little world, you'd see that.' He held up his hand, cutting off Lorica's reply before it could form. 'You know what? Just forget it. We've both got work to do here and I don't have the time to deal with this crap. Not anymore.'

A sudden chime sliced through the air, and Milo's eyes flickered to Lorica's console.

A Flash-priority message blinked, an urgent communication that couldn’t wait for even a moment. The sound seemed to cut through the veil of anger and resentment that had fallen on the pair and slowly, Lorica turned to face it.

Her delicate fingers traced her keyboard and she ignored the creak of her desk as Milo leaning on it, eager to see what had interrupted them.

'It's from Captain Anaya, back in Nos Astra,' she murmured as she read the message spilling across her screen. 'They've traced the release of the Jamestown Virus through several servers located across the city but even then it was routed through a comm-buoy. Looks like whoever used it actually hid the virus in a signal going through a diplomatic channel, of all places. The trace ended at a location on...'

She paused and frowned in confusion.

'Thessia. The city of Armali, to be precise.'

'Thessia? As in the asari homeworld?'

'Do you know of another?' she muttered.

Milo clenched his jaw and pushed away from the desk. 'Lina will need to hear this. In the meantime, I think you'd better check our resources, we're bound to have an agent in that area.'

'I know that,' she snapped, 'and I don't need you to tell me how to do my job. Just go and tell your quarian friend before she decides to blame me for this too.'

Milo threw up his hand in angry defeat and his boots thumped the ground as he stormed away.

Lorica watched him. Her fingers curled into the desk and pressed down painfully into the hard surface before she released the tension.

Her eyes flashed with a sorrowful affection for the young man but the feeling did not last long.

She was growing used to smothering those longings now and her hands worked smoothly once again as she contacted JSTF's Thessia cell.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen stumbled back into the tiled chamber. His left leg had grown weak as his body edged into complete exhaustion and he limped through the dark doorway with a grimace. Snow fell in clumps from his boots while melting ice trickled from his mandibles, yet he was satisfied.

He forced his head up, gasping in pain as he dragged his leg behind him.

 _Must’ve twisted the ankle during the night,_ he judged grimly as he tested it. That his senses had been so numbed that he'd only started to feel the pain now was what worried him.

It didn’t matter. He had prepared a position as best he could, ready to defend against those that pursued them. He looked down at his bad foot as he twisted it gently in place, assessing the range of movement.

'Hey.'

With a start, Arlen's gaze flicked up to find Keller staring at him. She had climbed down from the table and now sat on the ground with her back to a nearby wall, propped up so she could remain alert, or at least as alert as she could be.

She had also shed the helmet, but her skin was not the usual, warm tone of brown Arlen had grown used to. Instead it was as pale as the walls around them and her smile was crooked, weak.

Still, she was awake and, more importantly, alive. Arlen grinned back at her in genuine pleasure.

'It's good to see you up and about,' he said, glancing at her leg. 'So to speak. Still, you should be resting.'

Keller looked down at her useless limb and shrugged. 'What the hell does it look like I'm doing, running a marathon?'

'A what?'

Smiling, she shook her head and beckoned Arlen over. 'Never mind, just come and sit down. You look like you're going to collapse.'

He wanted to prove her right, but settled for walking over and slumping down by her side. His armour scraped the wall as he slid down, and then rasped as he tried to find a comfortable position.

'Damn it,' he mumbled as he realised his backside would continuously work its way forward from underneath him in such a position.

He grinned at Keller apologetically. 'It's not the most comfortable position for a turian.'

'So lie down,' she replied.

For a moment, Arlen's head swam as his body started to shut down, releasing him from consciousness. He let himself fall, until only his head and chest were supported against the wall. It would be uncomfortable, and make his neck ache mercilessly in time but he knew his body was spent. It wouldn’t mind this inconvenience, not with the promise of a few hours' rest.

He let himself move down, until his back was flat against the floor and his eyes stared ahead at the dark entrance to the room. His nostrils flared for a moment and a wisp of white paint cracked on his skin before floating away in the mild draught.

Suddenly, he felt a stiff pressure against his arm and he held his breath as Keller shuffled closer to him. Without a trace of hesitation, she wrapped an arm around him, snaking it behind his neck before clutching his shoulder at the other side and drawing him closer.

Her armour was cold, yet the contact warmed him in a way he hadn't thought possible. The corners of his lips curled in satisfaction. He was alive, and so was she.

As they grew still once again, they could hear the wind moan steadily as it rushed through the bunker. Water dripped from somewhere, adding a pronounced echo to the air. It was a cold silence.

'What were you doing?' Keller asked, breaking it.

Her voice was fragile, without her usual fire and its absence made Arlen's chest ache.

'Setting up a defensive line,' he replied, masking his unease. 'There's only one approach to this place and there's little cover. At the very least, if we do have to fight it'll be tough for the enemy.'

Keller chuckled softly. 'You turians and your tactics.'

Her fingers began to trace small patterns on his shoulder as she smiled for a moment, deep in thought.

'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course.'

'Back on the Citadel, before we went to Illium,' she began. Her brow furrowed briefly as she toyed with the words on her lips. 'When I told you about Harkin, you had to leave suddenly, do you remember?'

'I remember wanting to skin that creep alive,' he growled.

Still smiling, Keller shook her head. 'Never mind that, I just thought you looked pretty torn up about it. I wanted to ask before but I haven't had the chance until now. I know you don't like to talk about yourself much, but I figured since we're here, no eavesdroppers or anything, you might as well tell me what it was all about.'

Arlen sucked in a painful breath through his nostrils. He felt the walls of reluctance closing in on him but he fought them. She deserved to know.

'I went to see my older brother,' he began, anger creeping into his voice. 'It was the first time I'd seen him in over five years. If it hadn't been that long, I wouldn't have gone to meet him at all.'

She glanced down at him, her eyes bright with interest. 'You never mentioned you had a brother.'

'For all intents and purposes, I don't.'

Shaking his head, Arlen's eyes drifted to the wet, murky ground.

'Ten years ago, he left my family. My father had just died and he disappeared, leaving mother to take care of me alone.'

'Why did he go?' Keller asked.

'I'm not sure,' he replied, shrugging. 'It doesn't matter. He was always getting into trouble with the law long before that anyway. By the time he left he was nothing but a burden on all of us. I would've welcomed his absence if…'

Arlen paused and his lips pressed together reluctantly. 'If mother hadn't gotten sick.'

Keller bowed her head. 'I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?'

'Parthica Syndrome. It's a disease not dissimilar from your human cancer, though the condition is uncommon among my people.' Arlen's tone had grown cold, as if he was blocking the past from interfering with his emotions. 'It destroyed her slowly. A malignant tumour rooted deeply under her flesh. Before you ask, no, I can't blame my brother for that but it didn't help her to have to raise me all by herself.'

'Didn't you have any other family?'

'No,' he answered with a sad shake of his head. 'She was an only child, while Renius…my father…never had any relatives of his own, at least none we knew of. The colony helped as best they could but it took only seven years for her to succumb to the illness. Luckily, I was considered old enough to join the military by then. The training helped me take my mind off it all.'

Keller remained silent, her eyes fixed on the young turian beside her. She tightened her hold on him. It was the only comfort she could offer.

'Nihlus abandoned us, right when we needed him the most.'

The words were lined with venomous fury, despite his exhaustion. Arlen’s lips parted to release an icy breath but he didn’t go on. Instead, he lifted his gaze and forced himself to say something meaningful.

If he was to slip into unconsciousness, if he was never going to wake up again, he would not let spiteful ramblings about his coward brother be his last words to Amanda.

'It's been an honour, Detective.'

He felt Keller turn her head to look down at him. 'What has?'

'Knowing you,' he answered. His eyes remained locked on the opposite wall, his senses all but dead. 'If you were turian, you would be an example to us all.'

Darkness intruded on his vision and all he heard was Keller's voice, husky and dry with emotion. 'I…I don't know what to say,' she said. 'Look, I didn't want to admit it, but I know there's a chance we won't make it out of this. I just…'

The detective bit her lip, unsure how to go on, or if she even should. 'You carried me here, all this way, in your arms. Usually I'd hate the cliché, but when you experience it for real, it's…' She swallowed, and a single tear flowed down her cheek. 'I owe you everything, Arlen.'

Arlen's eyes slowly closed. 'Not yet you don't. We might still…it might not end here, like this.'

She smiled bitterly and held him tighter. 'It could be worse. This is going to sound crazy considering we've only known each other a week but I trust you, Arlen. With my life.'

Her words filled Arlen with a sense of peace. He didn’t know if he could be satisfied with such an end, with Krassus and the Legion still out there but as the warmth of Keller's body, of her companionship, flowed through him he couldn’t help but agree.

To die with her, at that moment, would have been far better than being torn apart by the Blood Pack on Omega or blown to pieces in Vastra's apartment.

At least they had each other. He thought of nothing else as sleep finally came.


	31. Chapter 31

 

The boy's dark mandibles flared as he gasped and roared for breath. Each one sent a plume of mist into the frigid morning air but he did not feel the cold. 

His whole body burned. Every muscle screamed at him, threatening to fail with every passing second.

His father stood above him, at the top of an enormous mound of loose soil that slid and shifted beneath the boy’s feet, so that each step was a treacherous struggle.

It was an old exercise, one that dated back to when the legions had warred against each other, long before Palaven had been united under the Hierarchy. The climb was difficult as the body struggled to maintain balance and feet scrabbled for purchase but that was only half the challenge. The real test lay at the top.

It was a fitting test for the one son who had the discipline to face it.

The boy leaned forward and pressed his hands into the soft earth. His sweat darkened the ground as it poured from his face and he panted loudly, his eyes wide with delirium. Colours swam in his vision and sound had all but ceased to exist, replaced by the dull, rapid thump of his heart.

He saw his father stare at him from beneath hooded lids, his gaze impassive and expressionless. The old turian paced along the crest of the hill and his armoured boots cut into the loose soil, leaving deep two-toed prints.

After nearly an hour, the boy was nearing the edges of his endurance and it was only the beginning.

'It's not enough to climb the hill,' the old man said again, as he had a dozen times before. 'You still have to _take_ it!'

He kicked a spray of dirt into the eyes of the boy below, who spat and choked as it found his mouth.

'Come and throw me from this hill! We're not leaving until I hit the bottom!'

Arlen grimaced as grit crunched between his teeth. He didn’t even have the saliva left to swallow it. He looked again at the imposing figure above him, a shadow against the grey light of dawn and wondered again how he could do what was being demanded of him.

He’d been given the task of throwing his father from the top of the hill and claiming it for himself but it had seemed impossible even from the beginning. The man was a towering sentinel, a dark, immovable statue that glared balefully from his lofty perch. He wore armour, which made him heavy and just the first determined sprint up the hillside had seen Arlen panting by the time he reached the top.

He had been easy prey and his skin was still raw from where he had been sent tumbling down, time and time again.

'You have the strength inside you to do this,' Renius growled at him.

In spite of his threadbare awareness, Arlen felt the bass thrum of his father’s voice deep in his chest.

'Ignore your body. It is only weak flesh. Your heart holds the key. As long as it remains strong, your body will follow.'

With a cry of effort, Arlen pushed himself to clear the ridge. His feet scrambled against the slope and he immediately ducked as a dark blur moved towards his head.

Renius' fist cut the air, missing him by a hair's breadth. Arlen's small body shifted to the side and he aimed a thrust into his father's unprotected midsection. He missed but managed to keep his balance, though his legs wobbled as they fought to sustain his weight.

He did not stop, and bared his teeth as he pressed his attack. Renius swatted aside his strikes contemptuously. The boy was fast but there was still much weakness.

'You're holding back,' he snapped.

He stepped outside a hasty lunge and his fist shot out, catching Arlen in the cheek. Immediately, Renius raced forward but Arlen had spent years learning his strategy. He weaved around the larger man's fists and tried to land his own but his strength was almost spent and Renius blocked the forceless strikes with ease.

Arlen blinked away threatening tears and composed himself in time to meet the answering onslaught but Renius’ blows were too much.

Arlen yelped in pain as an armoured fist cracked against his arm and his leg almost fell from under him as he stepped back. The boy clamped his jaw shut against the pitiful sound, the rancid mix of earth and blood on his tongue.

'Stop wavering,' Renius rumbled as he jabbed, his fist sending cool rushes against Arlen's skin. 'Your mind is filled with doubt. That doubt will kill you. Master it.'

He spoke quickly, but deliberately, each word a knife thrust aimed into Arlen's heart.

'Let your training, your instincts take over. Don't rely on your mind. It will betray you. Trust your instincts.'

Arlen opened his mouth to answer but could only cry out in pain as a heavy boot thumped against his chest. He screwed his eyes shut as he fell, and the world span around him in darkness.

Renius watched without emotion as his young son tumbled down the hill again and once more, he paced slowly back and forth along the ridge.

A rising trail of brown dust marked the path Arlen had carved down to the bottom and he lay there, motionless. Birds called from the trees around them and the rustling of trees became oppressive as Renius waited for a sign of life.

'Again!' Renius called down. 'Or I'll have you here all through the night as well!'

Arlen couldn’t even open his eyes. The blackness he had found was soothing, at least for the moment. Yet he knew it would not last. It never did. Something would drag him back, whether it was the lurch of fear in his stomach or the rough, searching fingers of his father on the collar of his armour.

It was all the same. For now he would treasure these quiet, cold moments as if they were his last.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Gasping, Arlen woke. 

He felt the tightness of medigel on his forehead and smelled his own rank, stagnant odour on the air.

The bunker was still dark and wet, but there was something else, something that was not there before. Slowly, he came to realise there was a weight against his arm and he glanced aside to see Keller's head resting on his shoulder.

Grinning affectionately, Arlen opened his mouth but thought better of waking her. Instead, he settled back down and waited for sleep to return.

The dream had escaped into the recesses of his thoughts and he sat perfectly still, trying to bring it back into the light. He vaguely recalled the vile taste of dirt in his mouth, of futile despair and a lone figure watching him from above.

Even those shards of fractured memory were quickly vanishing and he let out a breath before allowing his eyes to rest. No sooner had they closed before they snapped open again.

He felt the explosion long before he heard it, a tremor running through the ground that made his skin tingle. Then the sound came, a piercing crack, made thin and grating by his suit speakers.

Keller woke with a start, and prised herself away from Arlen as he began to climb to his feet.

'What was that?' she asked hoarsely before rubbing her dry throat.

'Proximity charge,' he replied before making his way to the nearby counter, where their weapons and provisions lay ready. 'I laid one out on the approach with the area-trigger set to wide. I don't know if anyone was close enough to get killed by it, but the explosion should set them on edge. Still, it won't take them long to reach the bunker.'

Keller frowned. 'What if it's a rescue patrol?

'Unlikely,' Arlen said, shaking his head. 'I doubt they even realise we're missing yet and even if they did, they definitely couldn't have found us this quickly. To find this place you'd have to be looking pretty damn hard.'

Keller seemed to come to a decision and winced as she tried to get up. Her leg spasmed and twitched as she moved and her teeth were bared as she held in a cry of agony.

Arlen cursed softly and crossed the room to her. 'What are you doing? You can't walk on that leg of yours!'

Her answer was a hiss from between clenched teeth. 'I'm not letting you go out there alone. You've carried me this far but I won't let you babysit me any longer!'

Arlen held her hard gaze. 'We only have one gun between us and you can't even move.'

Keller opened her mouth to argue but he placed his hands on her shoulders, the look in his eyes bleeding any response out of her before it could form.

'Stay here and be safe, all right? I'll be able to think a lot more clearly knowing you're okay. Please.'

He saw the soft skin of her throat flex as she swallowed her disagreement. She knew he would not be argued with.

Lowering her eyes, she mumbled, 'Okay. Just...please, be careful.'

Arlen squeezed her shoulder and nodded before turning away. He picked up the Mantis and limped from the room, and Keller almost followed him out regardless. She caught herself in the act and physically restrained herself, jerking slightly as battling priorities made her hesitate.

Her lips pursed in frustration, Keller bowed her head and slumped to the ground.

'Damn it,' she muttered as she slapped the ground.

'What's the matter, Amanda?' Petra asked, making Keller jump. She had forgotten the AI had been transferred to her omni-tool and she lifted her eyes to it coldly.

'Nothing,' she said, 'it's just not the first time he's left me alone like this.'

'So why don't you go after him?'

The room fell silent and Keller found herself waiting in fearful anticipation of those first gunshots, the first signs of battle. Her fingers pressed against the hard armour of her knees as she drew them up against her chest. The long moments drew out and the longer Keller waited, the more she felt Petra's question resonate powerfully within her.

Sighing gently, she nodded to herself. 'If I don't, he’ll never learn.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Varn cringed beneath his helmet. 

No one saw the furious expression under the dome of red-striped silver but his men could feel the anger radiating from him nonetheless.

They'd had no way of spotting the trap, not with the spirits-cursed wind throwing snow into their faces at every turn. The unfortunate legionary who discovered it now lay on the white ground, his leg burned from his body while their medic fussed over him.

Varn cursed the loss. They were foolish not to have anticipated the C-Sec officers would have surprises planned. That they had made it this far alone was indicative of their will to survive.

Lifting his head to the dim outline of the building at the top of the ridge, Varn spoke to his second.

'Macro, take third squad out wide to the right.' He turned to look at the centurion directly. 'Take it slow and careful. I won't lose more men to these cowardly traps. Do you understand?'

Macro nodded before motioning for several others to follow them and together they tramped through the snow.

Varn stood, watching. The structure ahead was a squat dome against the haze of white behind it, yet darker shapes rose sharply above it all. The mountains that blocked his shuttle access were tall and impassable. It was an excellent defensive position that forced him to approach from that single, exposed direction.

Still, he could not help but wonder how much of a fight their enemies were capable of putting up. The reports only stated seven personnel in that shuttle. Five were now dead or captured and the last were here.

 _Perhaps the reports were wrong?_ he wondered.

No. He’d seen these two with his own eyes on Illium. A turian and a human, both swathed in C-Sec colours. They were alone and ready to fall, if he could only reach them.

'Sir?'

Varn glanced over his shoulder to find the medic staring at him. Though his helmet obscured his features it wasn’t difficult to sense the dejection in his voice.

'He's gone. The explosion tore right through his shields and even with medigel, I doubt I could've stopped the bleeding.'

Varn nodded. 'There's nothing we can do. Make sure his suit transponder is still operational so we don't lose the body. I'm not leaving any of our men on this frozen rock.'

'Yes, Sir,' the medic answered with a salute.

Turning his eyes back to the structure, Varn frowned as a soft, white flash blinked at the edge of his vision.

Suddenly, a stabbing pop rang out through the air and the medic behind Varn shuddered as his armour splintered into fragments. He crumpled lifelessly to the ground and the tribune's reaction was instantaneous.

'Sniper!' he yelled out. 'On the ridge! Everyone down! Find cover!'

To a man, the team obeyed instantly and the dark line of men flattened themselves against the snow. The top of the hill became obscured to Varn as he hit the ground, his sight blocked by a small depression in the slope. He was thankful for it; it was unlikely the sniper could see him either.

As the sound of his own racing heart filled his ears, Varn took stock of the situation, the years of experience smoothing his thoughts into simple reaction.

The medic was motionless on the ground beside him. The round had taken him in the chest and shattered his armour like it was nothing. The deep hum of the rifle was still faintly audible as it echoed through the mountains, a low note that was distinctive to anyone with an ear for such things. A Mantis, Varn was certain.

Glancing around, the tribune spotted the most junior of his officers, his optio, further down the line. Everyone was now looking to Varn for orders and it was no surprise to see the optio staring at him expectantly when their gazes met.

'Paraxian.' Varn waited for the man to nod before continuing. 'Did you see the shot?'

The optio shook his head and Varn swore softly. The sniper could only be on the ridge. It was the only vantage point of note. With a pang of regret, he realised how much of a target he had presented moments before. He had clearly marked himself out as the one in charge and there was a good chance the sniper had been aiming for him.

His eyes drifted to the medic once again and he offered an apology to the man's spirit, if it was watching.

He addressed the optio again, his voice hardening. 'Our options are few. We don't have-'

His voice was swallowed by another booming snap and a loose drift of snow rushed over Varn's head.

'We don't have anything to obscure his vision and there's little cover between here and the top of that hill.'

'We could call in support from the shuttle, Sir?' the optio suggested.

'No,' Varn answered, shaking his head. 'The shuttle isn't armed and anyone firing from it will be exposed. We have to do this on foot. Centurion Macro?'

His helmet speakers crackled.

'Yes, Sir?' replied the man he had sent to the right flank minutes ago.

'Prepare to rush to cover. There are plenty more dips in the terrain between him and us and I want all other squads laying down suppressive fire while the other moves. Understood?'

'Understood, Sir,' the centurion confirmed. 'I volunteer my squad to be the first ones up.'

'Good man. Paraxian?'

The young optio beside Varn looked up and immediately flinched as another sniper round whipped over their heads.

'Get second squad ready to move. When third squad find cover, it's your turn. Clear?'

The optio nodded and scrambled back to his men. Varn blinked away any doubt over his decision. They could not afford to simply lie there in the cold, waiting for the sniper to pick them off one by one. They had no support, no specialist equipment. It would have to be the kind of manoeuvre that tugged at the sensibilities of every infantryman, yet the kind he knew they would all would have to face at some point.

There was an odd serenity to the knowledge that death could come in an instant but Varn kept his head clear.

His men were strong and fast. They would flush the sniper from his perch.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen could barely control his breathing. Even after only a couple of minutes of lying on his stomach, the cold had begun to seep through his armour, making him shudder. 

His helmet was almost completely frozen after lying in the snow for so many hours but he knew there was no help for it. It had been the helmet’s microphone that had picked up the earlier explosion, warning him of the attack.

He saw the enemy had reacted as he'd hoped, frozen into inaction at the foot of the slope. He had observed for a few minutes, picking out the leaders as he'd been trained, carefully selecting his targets with the knowledge that once he fired that first precious shot, there would be no more time for strategy.

It was during those moments of observation and planning that he'd noticed his opponents were all turian.

 _Not the ones from Illium then,_ he realised. This had to be the work of the Forgotten Legion themselves.

 _So who were the ones who attacked us in Nos Astra?_ he asked himself.

He shook his head gently, clearing away the superfluous thoughts. That was a question for another day, if he lived to see it.

When the time came he’d tried to take down the one giving the orders but the shot went wide, hitting the medic behind him with such force that the man had gone down instantly.

The soldiers had reacted without thought or hesitation, each one hitting the ground and finding refuge behind subtle reliefs in the terrain. With the element of surprise gone, Arlen steeled himself for the fight.

The battlefield was simple. He had a large, wide hill to cover yet he couldn’t see all of it at once. He found himself drawing away from the black ring of the Mantis' scope to survey the field with his own eyes lest he fall in the trap of tunnel-vision. Occasionally someone would show a sliver of armour above their cover and he would try for it, sending a heavy round thumping into the snow beside them.

He knew it was not good enough. He knew he was snatching at the trigger, his breathing erratic, and he should have been moving constantly to confuse them but he could barely think, let alone move. His training hadn’t accounted for a suicidal defence with no escape route.

The cold and fatigue worked its way into his body, clasping him in a paralysing grip. Faintly, he realised that part of him did not even care about survival. There were at least a dozen of them, ten after his surprise attacks, but now their assault would begin in earnest and he would have little chance.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash, then another. Several rifles fired, their spread focused and yet concentrated far to his right. He watched the blue trails streak across the blanket of white before hitting the crest of the hill with terrible force.

The roar increased as others added their weight to the fusillade, and it took several moments for Arlen to notice the dark spots moving on his left.

Cursing, he shifted his aim but it was too late. The running men had found another bank of snow and pushed into it, hiding themselves from view.

Fear edged into Arlen's heart. He knew that once he fired, his position would no longer be a secret. Every single weapon down there would train directly on him. No one could survive those odds.

He steadied himself and brought his eye back to the scope. There was no sense in hesitating, not now.

A brief, distracting thought fluttered through him, one of the Citadel, and of Lina. He wondered if they were trying to contact him at that moment. Would they even bother searching for him?

Again he banished the needless musings with a shake of his head and curled his finger around the trigger as a wayward gust of icy wind buffeted his side. He stiffened against it for a moment before relaxing as much as he could.

He slowed his breathing and picked a target.

Another group had risen from cover and were hastily picking their way up the slope. They were shifting direction constantly, trying to present as difficult a target as they could but Arlen knew there was always that single moment before they hit the ground again, where they would have to slow down to – _there_.

He fired and the Mantis thrummed beneath him. The smack of the barrel rumbled in his chest and he saw glinting speckles of broken armour in his scope.

The enemy soldier went down hard, his limbs flailing as he slid down the hill, carving a line in the snow. The others were lost to sight a moment later.

Arlen shifted his scope to their left flank, knowing that third group would be the next one to make a break for it but within a heartbeat enemy rounds screeched overhead, wisps of blue that pounded into the ground around him.

He tried to remain calm, assuring himself that the fire was panicked and unfocused but it did little good. The feeling of just one of those slugs tearing into his flesh was just too real to ignore.

The sourness of his own nervous sweat filled his nostrils, making him blink constantly. Muzzle flashes blinked below him like white stars, each one clamouring for his death. Puffs of snow kicked up around him as the barrage hammered the slope and Arlen knew he couldn’t stay there much longer.

He saw the last group break into a run as the other two continued to suppress him, and he risked one final glance through his optics.

The world was condensed into a single ring of black, and the edges of his vision blurred as his sight intensified on a single point. Data streamed into a tiny display on the scope's left side as the targeting VI relayed a hundred different statistics to him at once.

He ignored them all, focusing on a sole, running target.

A turian in silver armour, he saw, tall and wearing a helmet striped with red. The leader.

Arlen's finger squeezed the trigger and once again, the rifle shuddered as a slug burst from the chamber.

It hit the man in the arm, staggering him, but his shields shone brightly. They were intact, having absorbed most of the kinetic energy from his shot.

Arlen let out a frustrated breath and flinched as the weight of fire on his position increased.

He had been spotted for certain now, and every one of the enemy was doing their best to bring as many rounds on him as possible.

A thunderous crack broke through as an explosion shook the ground beneath Arlen's stomach. A great spray of snow erupted and he felt his body shift in response as the ground began to give way underneath him.

It was time. Scrambling on his belly, he shuffled backwards, away from the crest of the hill and back towards the bunker. He took a moment to drag across several items he'd salvaged and pushed them carefully into his old position before fleeing, his heart beating painfully in his chest the whole way.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Varn cradled his injured arm in the other, testing and probing the armour for any breaches or cracks. 

He had seen his own death in the violent jerk that threatened to tear his shoulder apart and he still felt the keen sense of surprise that he was able to remain on his feet.

The limb had been numbed by the impact of the heavy rifle slug but his shields had held. He checked them via the display on his wrist, noting how slowly the cyan energy bar on the readout was refilling. He would have to press Krassus to invest in better barrier tech when they returned.

Many seconds had passed since that accursed rifle had last snapped through the air and he knew with some certainty the shooter had been flushed from his position. It hadn’t taken long, and though he'd lost another man in the frantic rush up the hill, they were close now and would not be stopped.

The squads would weather the losses, though Varn would have to remain close at hand when they finally caught up to their prey. Everyone was intent on avenging their comrades and would need a stern grip to stop them tearing the enemy apart in a battle frenzy.

Varn kept his rifle tucked firmly into his shoulder, the barrel wavering over the ridge above. The cloud was gradually clearing from the sky, offering a line of perfect blue beyond the snow and his sharp eyes moved along the crest of the hill, watching for any movement.

He was aware of Macro's squad as they moved up on the far right, finally ready to assault the position. The rest of his men waited patiently with him.

He watched as the centurion raised his arm and the small team surged forward. A dark blur arched through the air ahead of them, over the top of the ridge and the grenade exploded a moment later, showering them with powdered ice as they finally moved over the top.

Varn nodded to himself and signalled those around him. As one, the men rose to their feet and trudged up the last section of their climb. Varn strained to listen for the sounds of battle over his own heaving breath but nothing came.

He saw something from where the shots had come, a heap of black shapes, along with a thin, jutting spike hanging over the edge. At that distance it looked like a rifle barrel, but he couldn’t be sure.

Varn brought up his hand and grimaced at the pain in his arm as he spoke into his suit radio. 'Centurion, what do you see? Is it the shooter?'

'Negative, Sir,' came the response, and Varn frowned beneath his helmet. 'It looks like an old pile of junk. Why would he…?'

Varn's eyes widened in realisation. 'Get out of there, Macro! It's a-'

The second proximity mine detonated with a bang that made Varn's teeth ache.

He stared in disbelief at the enormous cloud of earth and snow that jetted up from the centurion's position, swallowing another three of his men. One more remained and he skidded down the hill, the blast having knocked him cleanly from his feet.

'Spirits _damn_ him,' Varn spat.

The daze he felt was quickly dissipating, only to be replaced by raw, surging anger. As the Noverian winds rattled against his body all he felt was the intense heat of his desire for vengeance.

'Optio!' he snapped over the radio and the man in question glanced at the tribune from his place further down the line. 'Take Tarsus and recover the bodies. Patch up the wounded as best you can and radio in the shuttle. This won't take long.'

The optio nodded and Varn raised his voice to address the remainder of his squad.

'Everyone else, assemble at the top of the hill. We're not letting this little bastard escape. No more running for him; I want him dead!'

As the men scrambled up the slope, Varn's audio receivers hissed with static and the optio's voice came through. 'Sir, evac is en-route, but there's a problem.'

'What do you mean?' Varn snarled. 'What kind of problem?'

'Pilot says he's picking up an approaching shuttle signature on an intercept course for our position.'

The tribune's blood ran cold. 'Is it ERCS?'

'Negative, Sir.' The optio paused, reluctant to relay information that could anger his leader further. 'We don't know who it is. All we can tell is the shuttle's heavily armed. Sir, if they're hostile, we don't stand a chance.'

Varn's fists clenched, gripping the air as if to strangle the life from it. He ground his teeth and closed his eyes so tightly spots began to appear in his vision.

He could not be chased from this, not now, not while they were so close. The approaching shuttle could surely not be a corporate ship. Port Hanshan would only just have begun to organise a search, let alone assume the reason for their missing security team was a hostile attack.

There was something else at play, Varn knew, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He had five minutes to catch that damned sniper. He knew it was impossible and he opened his mouth, ready to give the evac order.

No. He hesitated, struggling with his honour. He could not return empty-handed.

Gripping his rifle, he cleared his mind as best he could and sprinted up the hill to where the last of his men waited. Six of them remained, six turians who were every bit as angry and battered as he was. Varn lifted his chin confidently as he approached them and saw them straighten with pride before him.

Not one more would be lost that day.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Udina's feet skipped slightly on the worn flooring of the alleyway. The Presidium's sky only reached the ground in thin shafts in that area as conduits and outcroppings of power units blocked the light above. 

It was a long, narrow area between the commons structures that saw little pedestrian traffic, and for good reason. The place was dank and dirty by Presidium standards, the pale walls steeped in centuries-old dust and the ground littered with refuse dumped from the main commons thoroughfare.

Still, it was ideal for the ambassador's purposes and he tensed automatically when he saw his contact ahead.

Marab was thin, even for a salarian. He was young too, by the standards of his race and his inexperience was clear in the way he fidgeted constantly as Udina approached. His skin was a deep indigo, fading into maroon around his mouth. The colour was so dark that Udina could only detect the shades when Marab's nervous shifting brought him into a ray of light, illuminating a rich palette of browns and reds before the shadow swallowed them again.

Udina set his jaw firmly in place as Marab spoke, his obvious anxiety pulling the words from his lips.

'You're the ambassador, I assume? Arek mentioned you.'

Udina took a moment to look him over, enjoying the way his fumbling increased with every silent second. 'I would have preferred it if he hadn’t mentioned me by name. I don't make a habit of crawling through back alleys to meet random strangers and a man of my importance can't afford to take chances.'

'Y-yes, of course,' Marab replied quickly, lowering his head. 'I-I'm sorry, I wasn't told much. This is all so new to me, to tell you the truth. I've only just started with the company and when I joined I didn't realise men of your stature would need consultations. Arek didn't give me much time to study what you gave him but I hope my advice is useful to you, Sir.'

Udina hid a smile at Arek's decision to send this young man in his place. The turian who ran Saronis Applications on the Citadel, the very man he had already consulted about the mysterious device he'd been given was former Blackwatch, one of the most revered turian special forces units. He moved fast and discreetly, and he worked even faster when tidy sums of credits were passed into his hands.

The word to meet Marab had come to Udina immediately on his arrival in office only that morning. Three appointments had been cancelled from his schedule to make way for this one.

'So tell me what you've found so far,' Udina snapped impatiently. 'I'm a busy man and I don’t like to be kept waiting.'

Marab's lips worked for a moment as he struggled to summon an answer.

'Of course,' he replied at last with another humble bow of his head.

His shaking hands reached deeply into a pocket and produced the small, silver cylinder Udina had given Arek the day before.

'This is really out-there, I have to say,' Marab began. He seemed unable to make eye contact with Udina and talk at the same time, so he settled for simply talking. 'What you have here is a high-powered communications device, like your average suit radio but using nanotechnology to render the components on a vastly smaller scale than usual. This allows for undetectable covert transmissions without the use of an armour suit, while at the same time housing the kind of interference-scrubbing and encryption tech you'd usually find in a major comm relay.'

'I don't care about the specifics. All I want to know is where it came from.' Udina said sternly, folding his arms.

Marab withered under his glare. 'As best I can tell, only top-level special forces outfits carry this sort of thing. Special Tasks Group are the most likely candidates. I would say asari Commandos but I know for a fact they like to use biotic signalling techniques at short ranges, that is, on covert operations. They might rely on real tech during major conflicts like the Krogan Rebellions, but for small-scale ops they're usually far more subtle.'

'Is there anyone else?' Udina pressed. 'What about the Spectres? Or C-Sec?'

The last name was spoken with an acidity that raised Marab's brow, but he didn't dare ask why.

'I don't think the Spectres usually requisition this sort of thing. They rely on their suit radios, that is, when they have to work with others. Most of the time they prefer to go solo.' He brought a hand to his chin in thought. 'Maybe C-Sec would have a few for undercover work or Special Response ops but these units must be prohibitively expensive; I doubt one could have escaped into my hands under C-Sec's watch.'

Udina's impatience left him in a single breath through flared nostrils. 'So _who?_ I need an answer here, not vague guesswork. Arek sent me to you because he believed you were the best, so prove it!'

Again, Marab trembled. Perfect white clouds drifted past above them while shuttle traffic droned throughout the alley, the sound pitching as it was tossed from one narrow wall to another.

Finally, Marab stilled his hands and nodded. 'STG. I'm sure of it.'

Udina cocked an eyebrow. 'You're certain?'

'It's impossible to be certain,' the salarian muttered, before quickly adding; 'but I'm ninety-per cent sure and that's as good as you're going to get.'

'Very well.'

The ambassador produced a credit chit from the inside pocket of his cream suit and handed it Marab, who clutched at it eagerly with thin fingers as he gave the device back to Udina.

'I trust the amount is satisfactory?'

Marab's brows rose as he looked the chit over and a grin spread his lips. 'Y-yes! Very satisfactory, thank you, Ambassador!'

Udina did not smile back. If the salarians were somehow at work then this meeting had provided him with far more questions than answers. The man who had warned him about Chellick, about the intelligence leak stemming from his office terminal, if he was connected to the Special Tasks Group then it was possible Chellick was guilty of more than blocking humanity's interests.

Strangely, the thought did not give Udina the satisfaction he thought it would. It was one thing for games of power to play out between two men, but when the most respected intelligence service in the galaxy became involved it raised the stakes to heights that even the ambassador would not wager. Grimacing slightly, Udina nodded stiffly at Marab and turned away.

Suddenly, he froze. Two men stood in front of him, little more than dark shapes against the light of the alley's entrance and Udina squinted as he tried to make out the details.

One was human, with long, greasy hair and a wicked smile playing across his craggy features. The other was a turian with dark skin, white paint splashed across it to form a sinister skull with sharp, frightening teeth along the lines of his mandibles. Both wore long coats, the kind that could easily conceal a weapon and Udina found himself growing unsteady under their flat, unpleasant stares.

The ambassador took in a deep breath, concealing his unease. 'Is there something I can do for you, _gentlemen?_ '

The last word was spoken with contempt and Walker bared his teeth in a crooked smile.

'Oh, don't mind us,' he sneered. 'I jus' love seein' politics at work. This what you call a diplomatic mission?'

The turian at his side snickered and Udina frowned distastefully as he balled his hands into fists at his side.

An air of palpable danger had set in on the alley, and the sound of the distant traffic lanes suddenly became a new source of tension as the seconds stretched out.

The heavy thump of armoured feet brought Udina's head back over his shoulder and he squinted at the sight of another figure behind them, blocking their exit. A krogan, he judged by the heavy bulk.

Marab's head twitched between the men at either side of him and he sank back to the alley wall, pressing himself into it as if hoping he'd pass through it into safety.

Walker stepped forward, slowly. 'Y'all been pissin' off the wrong people, Ambassador. I know you politicians is all corrupt as hell, but damn if you don't learn that sometimes there's people you just don't screw around with.'

'I'm warning you,' Udina said firmly, his strength bringing Walker's eyebrows up in surprise. 'You're making an enemy of someone far greater than whoever it is you're working for. If you lay a hand on me, I'll find you and have you begging for-'

Walker's hand shot out, smashing against Udina's jaw with shattering force, though he was not prepared as the ambassador countered instantly with an uppercut that sent him reeling back with a dull smack.

Udina staggered backwards, trying to put some space between them. His eyes were narrowed in rage and concentration as the turian came at him with a wild swing. Udina stepped inside, ramming a fist into his gut.

The turian doubled in pain as Walker recovered, pacing towards Udina, his eyes bright with malice. The ambassador backed up but cried out as something heavy thumped into his back.

The krogan advanced with a cruel grin as Udina stumbled forward under the force of the blow, and the air became filled with grunts and thuds as the three of them rained blows upon him.

Udina struck out as best he could but after only a few seconds he crumpled, unable to defend against so many.

Marab looked on in terror. He could not move, yet couldn’t tear his eyes from the mass of fists and kicking feet in front of him. Occasionally he saw a flash of red as the group shifted and Udina's bloody face was exposed, but then they would press in again into a tight circle and only the sickening, visceral thumps of flesh on flesh could be heard.

Then another sound emerged above it all, a series of whirs and clicks as mechanical components slotted into place.

Walker looked up before blanching at the sight of raised weapons.

His stillness brought the other two from their frenzy and they slowly raised their heads, the battered ambassador at their feet forgotten in an instant.

Beyond them, four salarians stood, each tall and lithe. Their armour was a clean, shining grey with bright orange stripes running up the sides. All wore helmets and held a heavy pistol with an assuredness that only came from long experience in war.

Every one of them exuded danger and Walker swallowed hard.

'What the hell is goin' on?' he murmured to himself.

The remark made the turian look at him worriedly before slowly edging away from Udina. The krogan too sensed the change in their fortunes, though he still looked at the newcomers with an air of challenge as he settled by Walker's side.

'Assaulting a foreign dignitary is a serious crime,' spoke a high voice from among the salarians.

Walker narrowed his eyes as one of them strode to the head of the group. He was different, with shining white armour and a helmet marked with twisted green symbols.

'Come on, now,' Walker replied, his voice trembling. 'We don't want any trouble here. This is just a job, it ain’t nothin' personal.'

'Perhaps we would like to make it personal,' the salarian replied evenly. 'As you said yourself, there are some people you just don't screw around with.' He turned briefly to his team. 'Kill them, spare the human if you can. If not, it doesn't matter.'

Walker's eyes widened as he recognised the threat and snapped orders to his men. 'Fire, damn it, fire!'

The shout was accompanied by a flurry of movement. Walker reached for the submachine gun strapped to his waist beneath his coat and his companions too grasped at their weapons, but they could never have been quick enough.

Their bodies convulsed as a salvo of slugs tore into them, ripping their unprotected bodies into bloody shreds. Walker yelled out in pain as he fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Kirrahe wandered over to the fallen thugs and knelt by Walker, his head tilted thoughtfully. 

It was always a risk, letting men like these get close to their targets but the team had had little choice. There were still so many variables, so many things that could have affected how the scene could have played out, but such was the way of things.

He looked over Udina, who lay unconscious a few feet away. The man was a mass of crusted blood and swollen flesh but he would live. With a smirk, Kirrahe shifted his gaze to the turian and krogan. They were not so fortunate.

Walker's breath hissed through his teeth, covering his chin in white spittle. His skin was flushed red and the veins in his temples were abnormally large as he struggled against the agony of his leg wound.

Kirrahe raised his pistol to get the man's attention and gestured with it as he spoke.

'Go back to your employer and tell him you failed, but don't mention our presence. If he asks, tell him C-Sec discovered you before you could carry out his orders. Then, you are to leave the Citadel. I do not care where you go but be assured, you will be watched to ensure these instructions are carried out. I also suggest you find a new line of work. Next time, you might not be so lucky.'

As Walker's eyes drifted from side to side, taking in the sight of his dead companions, his obvious urge to scream defiant obscenities at the salarian faded to nothing. Sullen anger took hold and with a wince, he forced himself up and limped away.

Kirrahe rose to his feet and approached Udina before motioning to his men. A pair of them jogged over and hefted the ambassador up by his arms, supporting his weight with ease.

'Looks like Vakarian was right after all. I suppose this accelerates our plans a little,' the captain murmured. One of the men nodded slowly and Kirrahe turned towards the only other left standing in that dark alley.

The salarian civilian was catatonic with shock. He stood rigidly against the wall, his credit chit clasped painfully in an iron-hard grip. The smell of blood, the shouts of panic and agony, it would all be swimming in his senses and Kirrahe smiled gently to himself beneath his visor.

It wouldn't take the young man long to master himself, but when he came around there was every chance he would betray their presence.

Kirrahe crossed the alley to him and was not surprised to see the young salarian tremble even more fiercely as he neared.

'Fear not,' Kirrahe said, raising a palm, 'we're not going to harm you. What you've witnessed is a simple case of street crime, nothing more. The ambassador was set upon by common muggers and thieves. We are his bodyguards, and we came to his aid. That is all.'

Finally, a sound escaped from Marab's mouth. It began as a faint hiss, and with effort, grew into a word. 'B-b-but…'

'That is _all,_ ' Kirrahe repeated calmly. 'Do you understand?'

Kirrahe did not know what particular aspect of his presence demanded the obedience. Perhaps it was his voice, or the quietly dangerous way he held himself but Marab's head rocked back and forth with frightening speed.

'Yes, yes, I understand. Um…thank you.'

Kirrahe smiled. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge that the Special Tasks Group had just saved the young man’s life.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The stone above Arlen's head splintered, sending grey dust and ice over his head. The fine powder coated his visor and he swore as he was forced to drag a hand across it, staining the glass. 

Bringing his head back up, he pressed into the doorway as the pressure on his position increased. The slugs were coming so thick he couldn’t take the time to line up a shot, and he cringed in disappointment every time he snatched one off, only to see it disappear into the sky or pound into the snow in front of his target.

As best he could make out, there were only six of them left but now they had him cornered and they knew it. All they had to do was cross a mere hundred metres of open ground, though the hill dropped away sharply behind them, so they could only move slowly and close to ground lest they silhouette themselves against the sky beyond.

Arlen's last refuge was the bunker itself, a solid fortification that could withstand the tempest of small-arms fire but the soldiers were edging closer by the second. They covered one another, forcing Arlen into uselessness through sheer weight of fire alone and it would not be long until they could flush him out with grenades.

He could only be thankful there was no light in the bunker to make him an easy target as he leaned out of the doorway to take his shots.

His breathing was an airy roar in his helmet and he could barely see the hammer blows that carved into the stone around him but he felt them; a deep thudding in his chest, each one a possible precursor to his death.

He pulled the trigger but again the shot went wide as he was forced to duck back behind cover.

For a moment, Arlen wondered why he was not panicking. He’d expected fear to take him at any moment, to break his mind and send him running but instead there was only an odd sense of calm.

Maybe it was the certainty of his end, or perhaps it was the knowledge that Keller still lay behind him, relying on him to be her shield. A few days ago he would have cowered from such responsibility. A part of him still remembered how competent the detective herself had seemed back then, how confident she was.

He wondered if others would say the same of him now.

A low whistle brushed through his ears as a slug whipped by his head, breaking his concentration. His shields were taking a beating and he knew it; the cold blue barriers were on the verge of fracturing and the closer the enemy grew, the greater the strain would be. He was running out of time.

Suddenly, a jet of snow and black dirt rose far out to his front. Spikes of pale lightning forked out in a brief flash and he watched as one of the enemy soldiers rose from his position, his fist slamming desperately on his rifle. The weapon had fallen silent and the overheat alarm could just be heard pealing between the crackles of rifle fire.

Arlen glanced back to see Keller shuffling towards him, her feet scraping a path through the dirt on the floor. An omni-tool swathed her left arm in orange and her expression was grim as she looked at him.

'I don't want to hear it,' she said, before Arlen could speak. 'I might not have a gun but I still have this,' she shouted as she lifted up her omni-tool. The Sabotage attack had come from her, he realised. 'I'll run interference as best I can while you do the shooting.'

Arlen reached up and slid off his helmet before tossing it on the ground. He didn’t care about the cold lashing his face; he only wanted to look Amanda in the eye.

They faced each other across the open doorway as the wind and rifle slugs rushed between them and the young turian frowned, his gaze hard.

'I told you to wait inside!'

Keller did not flinch, not even as razor-sharp chips of stone raced across her vision.

'If you die here then I'm worse than dead in there! We stand more of a chance together and you know it!'

'Amanda, I-'

'Don't say it!' Keller yelled out. Her eyes were ablaze and their strange light made Arlen's response die in his throat. 'Back on Omega, you left me behind to go off with that Spectre, remember?'

'Yes, I remember,' he answered back defiantly. 'I did it for your own protection! I didn't want anything to happen to you!'

Keller's lips twisted angrily and her voice was a bitter snarl that drowned out everything else in Arlen's ears.

'And when the _hell_ did I ask for your protection?'

The question was simple, Arlen knew it was, but where was the answer? He searched, turning over every response he could give in his mind.

He lowered his rifle to his side and opened his mouth, but it was Keller who provided his reply.

'You didn't believe in me on Omega,' she said, her eyes still locked on his. 'You didn't trust that I could keep myself alive and you left me alone. I won't let you do it again, Arlen. I _won't!_ '

Again, Arlen's mouth worked soundlessly. Slugs still hammered their position, slowly tearing the bunker around them to dust but he didn't care.

He’d thought Keller’s anger over that incident was forgotten, buried. To see it so close to the surface once more brought a sudden pang of fear into his heart.

He had to make it right in these last moments. If they were to die, he couldn’t let her go with those thoughts still in her head.

'Is that really what you think?' he asked, his gaze softening. 'That I don't trust you?'

'If you can't let me fight here, by your side, then what the hell else am I supposed to think?'

She continued to gaze at him, and Arlen felt the heat of it more than the rounds snapping at his head. His eyes flickered down to her injured thigh but he thought better of making a point of it.

Olansi's words came back to him, the ones he had shared just after they had returned from Torkessa District.

_’It's obvious why she would be mad but I thinks it runs a little deeper than that.’_

It wasn't obvious then, and it still wasn't entirely clear now but the emotions certainly ran deeper than Arlen would have ever guessed.

She was a professional. She was strong. To be coddled and kept away from where she was needed would have been insult alone but as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she needed more from him.

Dipping his head, he silently cursed his own selfishness.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Olansi asked that I tell you to stay behind but I knew you'd say no. I thought he was right, that…that you wouldn't be able to keep up. I was so wrapped up in my fear of losing you, even back then. I didn't realise what I was doing.'

Keller expression eased as Arlen raised his head and looked at her squarely.

'I still don't like it but I know you can handle yourself, even more than I can.' Hefting the Mantis, he nodded towards the enemy. 'So…let's make them pay dearly for our blood, Detective.'

Her lips curled into a grin.

'Amanda.'

Arlen matched her wry expression and bobbed his head in appreciation, his attempt at machismo undone with a single smile.

'Amanda,’ he repeated.

Emboldened, Arlen leaned out of the doorway and sent a round smacking into the snow next to the legionary who had risen up before. The man was still holding up his malfunctioning rifle and he quickly dropped to his stomach before slithering backwards in panic.

'Target right!' Keller yelled and edged from cover just enough to stretch out her arm. 'Petra, give this one a little kick!'

'Roger!' her omni-tool replied enthusiastically.

It bloomed for a moment, and a crackle split the air as one of their enemy's shields overloaded and burst. The sound travelled to them, a sudden pop followed by a distinctive hum, and Arlen quickly took advantage.

He knelt this time and pressed his other shoulder into the hard stone, steadying his aim.

He fired and grinned in triumph as the soldier dropped, his shieldless armour no match for the high-velocity round.

'Nice shot!' he heard Keller shout and his heart lifted.

In spite of his misgivings, he actually found comfort in Keller’s presence. The certainty of death had purged all care from his mind. He and Keller were working together, fighting together, and the feeling was exquisite.

He frowned behind his scope as he saw the silver-clad one from before, their leader, motion to the others. Arlen was tempted to fire but he stayed his hand, just for a moment, content to simply watch.

Without warning, the sounds of battle started afresh but nothing came their way. No screaming of slugs over their heads, or the vicious crack of breaking mortar.

The air was still and Keller narrowed her eyes as she noticed it too.

'What's going on?' she murmured.

'It might be a trick,' Arlen replied, turning his head to her. 'Keep your guard up.'

She nodded and they waited. The minutes stretched by as the weapons fire receded, then disappeared entirely. Brief flashes and broken arcs of blue would rise from beyond the slope ahead but whatever was happening down there was well hidden.

Arlen could only wait, his breath sticking painfully in his lungs as the seconds ticked away.

Finally, a new sound droned through the air, its bass note buzzing throughout the bunker's corridors. Arlen recognised it as the distinctive whine of a shuttle's engines.

He wanted to rush out and check but he caught himself immediately. He glanced at Keller and he saw the same caution in her eyes. They couldn’t simply go out blind.

'Maybe it's the Port Hanshan authorities?' she ventured.

'Maybe. I'm not taking any chances.'

'Not at all like going off by yourself to disarm a nuclear weapon?'

The sight of her mocking grin made Arlen dip his head bashfully.

'Not at all like that, no,' he replied.

Keller's smile disappeared as a dark shape caught her eyes, and she tilted her head back in the direction of the slope.

'Arlen, look.'

Arlen lifted his head and squinted as several blurred figures emerged from the white line of the hill's edge. They were armoured, he could tell, and all of them armed. Raising his rifle, he scanned them with the scope, picking out the smaller details.

They were all human. None wore helmets, making that particular assessment easy and each one seemed relaxed as they held their weapons low.

Several assault rifles, he tallied, one sniper and the largest had an enormous Revenant machine gun balanced carefully over his massive shoulders.

Their leader was easy to spot. He led the line of soldiers from the centre, his gait easy and confident and his head held high. The light played at the edges of the rifle's lens, highlighting a closely-shaven curve of silvery hair atop a face as scarred and weather-beaten as any Arlen had seen.

'What do you think?' he asked as he handed the rifle to Keller.

He watched the detective's brow furrow as she studied them. 'All human, all with modded armour, the kind of stuff they don't allow in Council space. Judging by the haircuts though, I'd say Alliance military, or former military at the very least. They carry themselves a little straighter than your average mercs and pirates.'

 _Still,_ Arlen thought to himself soberly, _best not take any chances._

He took the rifle back and almost started when a loud, bold voice rang out from the group.

'It's all right, we’re not going to harm you,' shouted the older man, his voice crashing against the bunker walls.

Arlen's gaze flickered back to Keller. She was right about the military link; that was a parade ground voice if he'd ever heard one.

'You're safe now. Come out and we can get you out of here.'

Something was wrong. Arlen could feel it and again, he turned to Keller.

'Is it just the fact that so many people have been trying to kill us this past forty-eight hours,' he muttered, 'or am I just being paranoid when I say that I don't trust him?'

'Oh come on,' Keller replied sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow. 'Sooner or later we're bound to bump into someone who doesn't want us dead, right?'

Smiling, Arlen brought his rifle to bear on the man who had spoken. He raised his voice, though it burned his throat to use it.

'How do we know this isn't a trap?'

Bowing his head, the human remained silent and took a step back. A few paces to his right, something shifted.

The barrel of Arlen's Mantis slid smoothly across in response, automatically fixing on the new threat. It only took a few moments for Arlen to recognise the man that strode carefully towards them, his hands raised in surrender.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Despite the aching cold, Jacob could feel a prickle of sweat break out on his temples. He could barely see what lay ahead in the darkened doorway but he felt it nonetheless. It was the terrifying presence of a sniper's eye. 

The sergeant's face was an indifferent mask as he approached, hiding the surprise he’d felt since his arrival, as well as his fear.

On the way up he had cast sidelong glances at the craters left by the explosive charges, as well as the gouges left in the snow, their trails indicative of several bodies being dragged off.

The sheer level of the carnage they’d found after chasing off the turian squad was impressive and it took a great deal of effort to stare down the barrel of the very rifle that had caused such destruction.

Coming to a halt, Jacob took a deep, calming breath before speaking out, as loudly and calmly as he could.

'I know you. I saw you both, back on Illium.'

He paused and licked his lips as his words echoed back at him, his mind tormenting him with other, more suitable things he could have said.

'I know you're both trying to put a stop to this, just like we are. Right now, we're your only ticket off this planet, and you're our ticket to Krassus and the Legion. If any of us are going to get what we want, we need to work together.'

The wind snapped at Jacob's ears, making them sting. The dead howl was the only sound around them all, and as the moments passed without an answer from the bunker he softly bit his lower lip in anxiety.

'I know this is a rough situation,' he continued, 'but I need you to trust me. I could've killed you both back there in Nos Astra, but I didn't. I think I proved myself once. Is that enough?'

Jacob waited. The tension grew in his muscles, building to such an intensity that he was forced to shift his weight from foot to foot to relieve it. He sensed the gazes of all the Corsairs on his back, knowing they relied on this plan of his. It was all they had.

Finally, he exhaled as he saw a flicker of movement. The turian emerged slowly, his human companion in tow and Jacob frowned at the sight of them.

This time it was the woman who was injured, her pace slow as she staggered behind the turian, her head raised proudly. Their weariness was evident in every aspect of their movement but Jacob's mouth spread into a subtle grin regardless as he realised the real work could truly begin.

These two had come through hell. Now something even worse awaited.


	32. Chapter 32

 

The Corsairs assembled in the Razor's mess hall and seated themselves around one of the large dining tables in the middle of the room. 

The lighting was dim and gloomy, with wisps of glittering dust floating in air that still stank of batarian ale and roasted meat. The grim atmosphere suited the Corsairs’ mood as they watched their new guests carefully and silently.

Arlen looked among the humans once more, his green eyes moving slowly, bright in an expressionless mask.

He'd been listening to them as they spoke and had managed to put names to most of the faces. The one with dark brown skin and closely-cropped black hair, the man he recognised from Illium was Taylor.

The eldest man's name was Dukov, Arlen had gathered from a muttered conversation between Miller, the giant with the Revenant and Chen, an affable-looking man with golden skin and narrow eyes that kept casting sympathetic glances at Arlen and Keller.

That one in particular seemed to be constantly in agreement with Taylor and Arlen made a note of it, eager to learn whom he could trust.

He shifted his eyes to Keller, who sat beside him in cold silence. She had adopted a neutral face ever since coming aboard, slipping into a taciturn character as easily as if she'd been undercover and Arlen felt a twinge of envy at the ability. His own emotions felt painfully obvious to read no matter how well he hid them.

The humans had saved their lives of course, but at what cost? What did they want with Krassus? Perhaps they were pirates after all, or bounty hunters looking to cash in the general's cheque.

It made Arlen bristle with dislike, knowing he was at their mercy.

Dukov perched himself on the table with his feet planted firmly on the bench below, elevating himself above the rest. His leathery skin creased further as he frowned, his hard gaze boring into Arlen before he finally broke the silence.

'We have a decision to make.'

The others cast sidelong glances at one another but said nothing. Arlen stared back at the man, doing his best to remain strong but it was like glaring at a statue.

'You have what we need,' Dukov said, 'the location of General Krassus and his Forgotten Legion.' His eyes flickered to Arlen's arm. 'Which I assume is held on your omni-tool.'

At that, Arlen held back a grin. Petra had jumped back onto the device just before they'd surrendered themselves to the humans. They would never be able to break into it while the AI lay within. At best they would breach the primary encryption before she led their hacking software on merry chases, losing them precious days.

Dukov's frown deepened and his voice grew harsher. 'Or we can just take it out of your hide. How long do you think you can stand torture, turian? Or, for that matter, your friend there?'

Arlen’s face twitched at the threat and Dukov seemed glad to see it.

He grinned and shook his head. 'Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't think twice about it. I'd take everything I could and dump you out of the airlock without anyone being the wiser. Nothing personal, of course, simply the nature of the game.' He paused then to flash an irritated glance at Jacob. 'However, I've been _convinced,_ ' he said with some difficulty, 'to offer you a choice.'

Arlen's stomach felt hollow as he answered. Keller remained still, content to let him do the talking for now.

'It doesn't look like I'm in much of a position to bargain here. I don't even know who any of you are, with the exception of Sergeant Taylor here.'

Jacob's expression shifted subtly and he spoke to cover his surprise. 'We're all on the same side here. That's all you need to know, and it's the only reason you're still alive. I don't like the idea of killing off Council agents, not when our real enemy is still out there.' The sergeant took a moment to incline his head gratefully towards Dukov. 'You're lucky the major is open to suggestions.'

They fell quiet for several moments until Arlen nodded slowly. 'All right, so we’ve established that I’m lucky. What are you proposing, human?'

'It's a simple arrangement,' Dukov replied as he folded his arms over his knees. 'We both need Krassus, ideally alive. The only difference is, whereas you want to stick him in front of the Council before letting him while away his years in a cushy turian prison - while his friends in the military will make sure he's kept as comfortable as possible, no doubt - we want to make sure he answers properly for his crimes against humanity.'

'You're talking about revenge,' Arlen answered immediately, 'not justice. You're hurting after what happened to the Jamestown, I understand that, but…'

The truth dawned on Arlen suddenly, and his gaze snapped up and fixed on Dukov intently.

'You're Alliance, aren't you?'

Dukov grinned and gave a snort. 'For what it's worth. But don't think you can go reporting this, the Alliance will just deny our existence. Unless we succeed, we're ghosts, every single one of us.'

'Well, that explains the Terminus gear,' Arlen murmured.

One of them rose quickly to her feet, and Arlen cocked a brow at the woman's severe, yet coldly beautiful features.

'Sir, this is pointless,' Weiss snapped.

Her words were like the vicious snarl of a varren to Arlen's ears and he watched her cautiously, wary of the strength held within her wiry frame.

'This little prick has everything we need and we're wasting time talking to him. Not to mention he's a bloody turian!' The woman turned her ice-blue eyes to Arlen and he stiffened automatically under her glare. 'The first chance he gets he'll likely try and warn that bastard Krassus, if only to stop us getting to him first! That's if he's not working for them already!'

Keller stood, suddenly furious. 'Don't you _dare_ compare him to those terrorists! We're the ones tracking him down lawfully, not skulking around in batarian ships!' She stopped for a moment and spoke her next words with enough venom to make Arlen wince. ' _Stolen_ batarian ships at that, just waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and take advantage of everything we've worked for!'

Weiss did not flinch. Instead, the warrant officer crossed the mess hall in quick, determined strides and stopped only inches from Keller's face, her breath hot on the detective's skin.

'I suggest you sit down, you little bitch!' she seethed. 'Before I put you down!' 

'Kristen!' Dukov snapped.

His voice fell away into deep quiet and without taking her eyes from Keller, Weiss slowly backed away.

Keller returned her gaze without a shred of fear or emotion. She remained still for several seconds before her head whipped down, drawn to a cold, hard touch on her arm.

Arlen kept his hand there as he silently pleaded with her to sit down. Her eyes glittered with anger but Arlen nodded to show his pride.

He could tell this Kristen was a killer. He’d read it in every aspect of her voice and movement and he knew the courage it must have taken to stand in the face of her threats.

Keller eased herself back into her seat and Dukov spoke sternly, so everyone in the room would hear.

'Our reasons for wanting Krassus are inconsequential. You don't need to concern yourself with them.'

'Like hell!' Arlen spat. 'It's my duty as a C-Sec Interceptor to bring that man in alive!'

Dukov shrugged indifferently. 'Whatever your duties are, your choices remain the same but I think we both know there's only one clear course of action here. We need the Legion's location and we don't have the time to force it out of you. Your willing co-operation is the only chance we have of catching Krassus before he realises how exposed he is.'

Frowning pensively, he leaned forward. 'At the same time, you know you can't get to him alone. You need me and my team to assault his base of operations. If the general is still alive when the smoke clears then he comes with us. That's non-negotiable. If he's dead, well, then at least we'll both have something to report. Either way, the problem will have been dealt with; and isn't that the most important thing here?'

Arlen still did not like it but even he had to admit when his choices were few. He glanced one more time at Keller, looking for reassurance in her eyes. She bobbed her head slowly and he let out a deep breath.

'All right,' he answered. 'We'll do it your way.'

Dukov slid smoothly off the table and onto his feet. 'Good. I'm glad to see we can keep things friendly. One more thing, though.' He turned his grey eyes to Keller. 'Your lady friend here can't come. She's wounded, which is reason enough but we can't afford to watch both of you at the same time. We'll drop her off on Illium on our way into the Terminus Systems, where she can catch a transport back to the Citadel.'

'What?' Keller cried out.

Her mouth hung open in dismay and she looked at Arlen in desperation.

Arlen shook his head. 'Detective Keller is my partner and she's been vital to this investigation so far. I can't do this without her.'

Keller froze at his words. Her fury began to ebb and the corners of her mouth tugged into a thin smile.

Dukov crossed his thick arms and stared at them both. 'It's not up for discussion. In her condition she's a liability. This is no longer an investigation.' he paused and narrowed his cold gaze. 'This is a military operation. We're going to war against these sons of bitches and we can't afford to have anything slowing us down.'

He nodded towards Jacob. 'Sergeant Taylor, escort our guests here to the cockpit and ensure our new turian friend uploads the destination to the galaxy map. Then show them to their quarters. It'll be a few hours before we reach Illium, so get some rest while you can.' He eyed the C-Sec officers with a grudging respect. 'That includes you two. You certainly look like you need it.'

For the first time, Arlen agreed with him.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Krassus was painfully rigid as the shuttle lowered into the landing bay. Several trees had grown over the entrance, their green-tipped branches reaching over the gap like grasping fingers and the shuttle brushed past them with a soft rustle on the way down. 

The general took short, sipping breaths as he waited. Yanus' orders still rang in his ears and his mind was filled with questions of how he would carry them out. Avitus deserved more than a cut throat in a quiet room he knew, but neither would he shame his second with a public execution, no matter how much he’d angered Yanus.

The indecision made him tremble.

The shuttle door hissed and slid up, and Krassus' mouth hung open at the sight of several heaped bundles at the door's entrance. Each one was roughly wrapped in black and blue plastic, and he heard Varn's rough voice crack out above the whine of engines as he shouted for men to help carry the bodies.

Krassus stepped forward, unable to simply stand and watch while morbid curiosity burned through him.

As he neared he saw several of his legionaries ready themselves to disembark. Every one of them drooped with exhaustion and despair, but Krassus was more concerned with how few of them there were.

He counted quickly, and his throat tightened as the dead outnumbered the living. In that moment, all thoughts of Yanus were forgotten as rage bubbled within him.

'Tribune Varn!' he shouted as he lengthened his stride up to the shuttle door.

The men inside immediately snapped to attention and saluted but he ignored them, his blue eyes affixing themselves to his Second. 

Varn straightened as best he could. He had removed his helmet and his voice was unbroken as it poured smoothly from his lips, showing nothing of his fatigue.

'Sir, I'm ready to make my report.'

His formal tone leached into Krassus and the general blinked for a moment. He realised the men would be listening in on them intently whether they showed it or not, and so he nodded at Varn stiffly.

'Very well, follow me. You can fill me in as we go.'

'Yes, Sir,' Varn replied before turning to his men. 'Offload the bodies and take them to the medbay immediately. Ensure their tags are preserved.'

The murmured words of assent were lost to Krassus as he marched away and Varn’s feet scraped the stone of the landing pad as he rushed to catch up.

'I can explain, Sir,' Varn said, though his voice was cut off instantly.

'Can you explain?' Krassus snapped. ' _Can_ you? I gave you an order, Avitus! I told you to report back here immediately after the operation on Illium. Once it was clear the mission parameters had changed your first action should have been to pull back and re-assess the situation! You deliberately ignored my instructions and as a result, seven men are dead!'

He stopped in his tracks as he saw a glimpse of sadness in his old friend's eyes. He wondered at it.

'What the hell happened out there?' Krassus hissed quietly.

'Sir, the situation is more dangerous than we initially thought,' Varn began. His tone was steady and intense, filled with the need to make his leader understand. 'Prefect Vastra was already under attack when we arrived on Illium, that much you know.'

'Yanus already had the situation in hand,' Krassus interrupted with a wave of his hand. 'The men who attacked Vastra were mercenaries hired by him to confuse our enemies. That was why he ordered us to stay here, so he could tie up loose ends without risking our exposure.'

'No, Sir,' replied Varn, the certainty of the response drawing Krassus' attention once again. 'Yanus' men weren't the only ones there.'

The tribune looked down to his arm and produced his omni-tool. The device spun and shifted before a recording from his recon scope played out, the amber-hued image of two C-Sec officers climbing into a police car clearly visible.

Krassus' brow twisted as he took in the details and Varn used his silence to continue.

'We tracked them carefully, and when we realised they were heading to Noveria we knew Vastra had given them something.'

'Lorik Qi'in,' Krassus sighed, his eyes closing. 'That snake still has a habit of slithering his way out of trouble. Some things never change.'

Varn nodded. 'We might be able to deal with him eventually, but the monitoring software we had installed on his system was more than sufficient for the time being. Using information pulled from his private terminal, we tracked the C-Sec agents and managed to take down their shuttle on the planet's surface. We had them cornered, but…'

He trailed off and that alone made Krassus frown in concern. Varn was not prone to displaying anything of his emotions or fears.

'But what, Avitus?'

Varn took a moment to purge the keen disappointment from his voice, but enough of it remained that Krassus understood how deeply it ran.

'I failed. We almost had them but we were attacked. We barely had time to escape with our lives.'

'Who?'

'I don't know,' Varn muttered bitterly, hefting his shoulders. 'They were few but heavily armed. I'd say pirates but their kind don't go out to Noveria, too much private security. Our location was out in the middle of nowhere. They had to have been specifically looking for us. Or them.'

'These C-Sec agents,' Krassus murmured quietly as he understood, 'they must hold vital information. Qi'in must have given them something, something of enough value to warrant a rescue by a team of mercenaries.'

'Sir,' Varn spoke again, leaning close. 'It's likely this location has been compromised. We have to consider the possibility of moving on, before it's too late.'

Krassus grew still in contemplation. He turned over what Varn had told him and the choices stretched out in front of him, their paths and consequences too great to imagine.

The logistics alone of moving the Legion were staggering and always there was the dark presence of Yanus, worrying at the back of his mind like a parasite.

Releasing a breath, he turned without warning and strode away. Varn followed but his gaze remained locked on his general.

Krassus took them through the main courtyard. The afternoon heat had settled in on the compound with a barbaric intensity. The smell of flowers and vegetation was strong, yet the thickness of the air made it all sickly and oppressive.

Krassus heard the echoes of shouted orders and the comfort of familiarity finally eased him. No matter the planet, the Legion was his home.

Cool shadow enveloped them as they passed through an open door into the compound interior. The three-storey building lay at the centre of the base and looked out over every corner.

The corridors were brightly lit and clean, though the stone was rough, having been laid in haste only three years before. Heavy black and yellow cables were bolted to the ceiling in thick wads while lifting equipment lay to the side, ready for the next shipment of illicit 'donations' from Palaven to arrive.

Still, it was all kept free of dust and grime. The routines of the Legion were strict and never-ending, and they took as much pride in the condition of their home as with their weapons and armour.

After several flights of stairs, Krassus and Varn passed into the CO's quarters. The sun's glare was harsh at that time of the day and Krassus narrowed his eyes against it, wandering to the window and closing the shutters until only a set of thin, glowing bars striped his face.

Varn scratched the back of his neck, suddenly uneasy with the silence.

Krassus drew a deep breath. 'Yanus contacted me while you were gone. He knew you'd slipped away, as I said he would.'

The general's eyes dropped. 'He ordered me to kill you on your return.'

Varn kept his mouth firmly shut, though the air entered his nostrils in a single, sharp burst. Seconds passed, long and slow, before he clasped his hands behind his back dutifully.

'I was aware such a thing could happen, Sir,' he said. The tribune had adopted his typical cold face, showing nothing of his shame at having failed on Noveria, nor fear of what was to come. 'I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.'

Krassus stared at him, a shadow against the half-closed shutters. Without a word, his hand slipped down to his side, where a pistol was strapped to his hip.

It was an old Gladius model, a unique weapon custom-made at the old Imperial armouries back on Palaven. It was large, with a tapered barrel the reddish colour of warm wood and a metallic gleam that spoke of decades of care.

It was one of the few turian-specific pistols still in existence, made solely for the hands of their people. The makers had long since vanished, swept out of the market by intergalactic companies like Elkoss and Elanus.

As the pistol slid from its holster, Varn found he could not take his eyes from it. That gun was probably the most valuable thing in the entire camp.

The dark hole of the muzzle quivered before Varn's eyes. Krassus wielded it firmly with an arm held taut and straight, the strength a result of thousands of hours of intense conditioning and exercise.

Krassus knew the knowledge that Varn’s general, his friend, was pointing a gun at him meant nothing. The tribune had emptied his mind. He would never show weakness, where others might beg or plead for their lives.

The sight of it made Krassus proud but he too showed nothing in the flat planes of his face. He was too much of an old soldier to shame Varn with sympathy.

Still, as he curled a thick, weathered finger around the trigger of the Gladius, he froze. His features were expressionless, but his eyes shivered and rippled like azurite pools. Shapes danced across the pistol's polished surface, dull reflections in the bronzed metal.

When he spoke, it was against breaths that pushed forcefully from his chest.

'Thirty years ago, Avitus. Do you remember?'

'I do,' his Second replied steadily, holding his gaze. 'I still remember thinking "how did that little punk land the optio job when he's barely old enough to tie his own boots?"'

Krassus blinked in surprise as Varn smiled widely at the memory. 'We all thought you were just some kid with good connections. Shows what we knew, back then.'

Nodding slowly, Krassus tightened his hold on the trigger. 'Back then. Those were strange days. A war against a new enemy, having all our weaknesses thrown back in our faces, having to cast aside everything we knew was right and true.'

'Are you talking about Shanxi, Sir?' Varn asked gently. 'Or the Exodus?'

The general grunted, a short, hard sound that was neither a laugh nor a snort.

'You know, I've never made that comparison before. I suppose enemies may change but the wars never do. I'm glad to have known you, Avitus. From the very beginning.'

Krassus shifted as he readied himself to fire and the warm stripes of light from the shutters softly laced his skin. Varn closed his eyes and waited for the shot.

The pistol clicked.

Varn's eyes snapped open, wide with astonishment. They fastened on Krassus' weapon and for the first time in decades, Varn's mouth fell open and hung slackly, without sound.

A thermal clip fell unspent from the Gladius and hit the ground like the striking of a hammer.

'Sir,' Varn forced shakily from his lips. 'What…'

His eyes like steel, Krassus took several sharp steps towards his friend before halting and placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. His voice was stronger than it had been in a long time.

'You were right, Avitus. You were right all along.' The grip on Varn's shoulder tightened. 'I've always fought, always led men to fight battles I've believed in, no matter where they took us. And I almost sold my honour, almost surrendered it out of fear.'

And Yanus?' Varn asked, his voice thick with strain.

Krassus let his hand fall back to his side and he slipped the Gladius back into its holster.

'The humans have a peculiar saying. I believe it goes; _fuck_ him.'

He smiled wryly, suddenly filled with the same fire as when they had stood together in the smoke-filled, rubble-strewn roads of Shanxi. The tang of heavy weapons discharge filled their nostrils once more, strong and acrid.

Krassus' face was the same cool grey as the Shanxi sky, spattered with black mud and yet those eyes shone with an inexhaustible energy. Varn still found it hard to believe the general was six years younger than him, though he knew time and command had taken a heavier toll on Krassus than most. It had scored his face with deep lines, each one a testament to the years he had given them all.

Varn mastered his churning emotions and adopted his usual, reserved manner. He did not smile, no matter how elated he was to see that old strength return.

'I believe it's about the only worthwhile thing the humans have ever come up with, Sir,' he said evenly. 'I take it then that we'll be moving soon?'

Krassus’ grin eased and he turned away to pace around his small room.

'It's time to show Yanus…the galaxy…that this varren still has teeth.'

He looked at Varn directly, his voice hardening into a tone of command that Varn reacted to without thought.

'We have one more sample of the virus, correct?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good,' Krassus said with a nod. 'I've been giving a lot of thought to our next target.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The batarian Razor was the most revolting vessel Arlen had ever seen. The slavers had been ill-disciplined and it was clear they expected their broken slaves to do the cleaning around the ship. 

At least the cabin he and Keller had been offered was adequate. It must have belonged to one of the officers, he gathered from the relative luxury adorning it.

A long bed swallowed the space along the rear bulkhead and a spacious terminal desk was set up a short distance away. A set of oddly-shaped antique weapons stood on a rack on the bulkhead at the other side of the compartment; a motley selection of blades and wicked-looking clubs. Arlen quietly wondered at their origins when he felt Keller finally stir beside him.

She had shed her armour under his stern instructions, to allow air to her injury and she now laid in bed while he perched on its edge.

Arlen still felt the hot glow of his embarrassment as she had started to peel away the layers of her suit but did not stop at her underwear, and he remembered turning away so abruptly he thought his neck would snap.

She had laughed at his discomfort, a soft sound over his shoulder that made his heart race even faster. The first sight of that smooth, brown flesh still lingered despite his furious efforts to banish it.

He was certain she had removed all of her clothes just to see the expression on his face but he supposed the idea was a good one. He felt his own garments fester beneath his suit and ached to feel the cool air on his skin.

Now the detective simply looked peaceful in her rest, her body swathed in a rough wool blanket. The young turian smiled as he looked down at her. Even though they were no longer in immediate danger, she still seemed tense, like a coiled spring.

His expression shifted as Keller's lips parted. The strained grittiness that had plagued her voice on Noveria's surface had almost gone.

'Still there?'

Her eyes remained closed and she grinned slyly. She knew Arlen was wondering exactly how long she’d been awake, knowing all the while the weight pinning down the other side of the thin mattress was his.

Arlen closed his eyes and chuckled. 'Yeah, still here. Been about an hour now.' He nodded towards her armour. 'I did some maintenance, had a long talk with Petra. She's running her own clean-up programs and collating a report for JSTF. As soon as we get some connectivity she'll be able to link up and send it through.'

'She can't connect now?'

Arlen shook his head. 'All outbound communications have been severed. Not just disabled, either, these guys physically shut down the relays. They don't want word of Krassus' location to leave this ship.'

Keller frowned and moved her body, drawing Arlen's eyes as the shapely lines of her legs became visible beneath the covers.

'They must know that JSTF will find out when I get back to the Citadel.'

'It'll take you at least a day to get back from Illium,' he replied with a shrug. 'Maybe longer. I figure that's more than enough of a head start.'

Sighing, the detective rolled onto her back and let her eyes open and drift idly up to the ceiling. The metal was eroded and cracked in places, an image of decay and neglect.

'I still can't believe this is it,' she whispered, her voice still containing a strong note of resentment. 'After all this, I won't get to see the end.'

Hesitantly, Arlen reached out to place a hand on her bare shoulder.

'I know. I wish there was another way.'

Her eyes probed him for a moment, searching for mockery but relaxed quickly. He was being sincere and she knew it.

'Why were you sat there all this time?' she asked, flicking her eyes to where his armoured backside trapped the sheets of the bed. 'Watching out for the boogeyman?'

He laughed awkwardly. 'I'm not sure what that is, but something like that, yes. We're on a strange ship and these people might be allies for now, but they're not our friends. I'd just as sooner look out for you until we reach Illium.'

'That's sweet,' she murmured, sliding smoothly back onto her side.

Arlen's head snapped away as the sheets rippled for a moment, revealing the deep shadow of her breasts and Keller held back an incredulous laugh.

‘Still too polite for your own good.’ Pulling the covers up to her chin, she laid a hand on his arm. 'Are you always this protective?'

'I guess,' he replied uncertainly, using his other arm to scratch his neck. 'It's not something I really think about. We, turians I mean, are taught from the beginning that the individual is not important. The team, the unit, that's all that matters. To act solely for oneself is one of the most cardinal sins a turian can commit. I guess you could say it's my duty to make sure you're safe.'

'Was it Nihlus' duty too?' she asked. As expected, the question sent a wave of tension through Arlen but she kept her gaze firmly on his back. 'Was it his job as a brother to protect you and your mother?'

Arlen sat perfectly still. He faced away from Keller, so that she couldn't see his expression and for a moment her expression became strained with worry. It released when he finally replied.

'It was more than that.'

He turned his head, until the outline of his fringe and mandibles were dark lines against the cabin's only light.

'I still remember the day my father came home. I was seven years old at the time and I never recalled seeing Renius before then. All I remember is a stranger standing in our house, looking at me in disgust, with a hatred that frightened me from the very second I met him.' Arlen lowered his eyes. 'Nihlus was different. He was a lot older than me and he already knew this man, and he hated him. He argued with him, fought with him, right from the very beginning.'

He felt Keller move, and then a gentle tug at his arm, inviting him to lie beside her.

'Don't worry,' she said at his back, without a trace of humour, 'I'm keeping the sheets between us.'

Arlen let himself slide backwards and almost moaned in ecstasy as his cramped muscles finally eased. The mattress was barely enough to support them but simply being allowed to lie down was more than enough.

He felt the words flow more easily after that, and they poured from him as he gazed up towards the ceiling.

'Our training began the next day. Renius had us up before sunrise, waking us up with kicks and ice water. Every day we'd run for miles, until we couldn't even stand, but that was just the start. Martial training would be carried out throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, exercises to build strength and speed. Hand to hand combat, weapons, tactics, he forced it all down our throats. The beatings were always worse if we made the same mistake twice.'

'He sounds like a monster,' Keller muttered at his side. She looped an arm around his as he shook his head.

'I thought the same thing too for a while but…'

Arlen broke off and his tone changed, almost into one of awe.

'One night I snuck out of my quarters. It'd been a hard day and I was starving. My hunger was keeping me awake so I decided to risk raiding the kitchen. I was quiet and quick, and I would've gotten away with it if…'

Again, he faltered. Images flashed before his eyes, still achingly clear. A beautiful woman, his mother, back before the disease took her. The open door to the veranda outside their home, bathing the room in rich, pale starlight. The clear night sky beyond and the black lines of hills in the distance.

In front of it all was Renius, taking his mother's hands and drawing her into his arms.

Arlen remembered it all. His mother’s smile, her mandibles pulsing gently as Renius stroked her face.

Arlen's small body had pressed itself into the shadows with a grace and strength that had not been there a year earlier, and it held still as he watched the cruel man he hated hold his mother with a tenderness he couldn't have imagined he possessed.

The fruit Arlen had been carrying from the kitchen fell from his grip, made weak with shock, and Renius had heard. The old man's eyes had shone with something, a strange fire that he quickly smothered before striding over and snatching up his son by his throat.

Arlen blinked, suddenly aware of his retreat into memory. 'Let's just say I saw a different side to him once. It was just the once but…I don't know, it made me feel satisfied, in a strange way. I suddenly felt the need to survive what Renius was putting us through, just to see that side of him for myself.'

'I see,' Keller mumbled.

Her fingertips traced small patterns on his armour, as they had when she’d held him in that cold bunker, when they had both been at their lowest ebbs.

'I take it Nihlus didn't share that desire?'

Arlen grunted. 'Nihlus was too wrapped up in his own personal war against Renius to see what was going on. He would defy orders during training, argue over strategies and return every insult, no matter the consequences.'

Keller looked down to see Arlen's fingers grip the sheets angrily.

'My brother would disappear for days, even weeks at a time. Sometimes he'd be brought back in security bindings by colonial law enforcement. Other times he'd slip back in and try to act like nothing ever happened. Renius always beat him hard but after a year or so the old man would have a bruise or two of his own to show afterwards. I guess the training backfired for him in that respect.'

'Can you blame Nihlus for leaving, then?' Keller asked. 'It doesn't sound like a happy existence to me.'

' _I_ survived!' Arlen replied with a hateful snort. 'So why couldn’t he? I honoured my father's position and learned everything I could, no matter how difficult it was, so why couldn't he? For three years I took everything Renius threw at me, even when I wanted to just give up and die! Even when Nihlus left me to suffer it alone!'

He turned to face Keller directly, his eyes pleading.

'I obeyed and stood by my family, as any turian should. I-I didn't just…just leave everyone alone! I didn't quit!'

His last, staggering words came as a surprise even to him. Emotion had finally cracked through his shell as he lay on the rough sheets, staring into the eyes of his closest friend.

Keller watched as moisture glimmered there, pooling at the corners before fading gently, and she brought her palm to his chin.

Arlen stiffened at the contact and sat up, suddenly. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'For getting all...' he mumbled. 'I shouldn't burden you with my problems like that, I'm so sorry.'

The mattress creaked as he stood while his hands fumbled with one another.

The sudden onset of nervousness was too much for Keller and she followed him up, the sheets slipping away from her skin as she rose to pool around her ankles.

She clasped Arlen around the chest from behind but did not turn him around, content to respectfully spare him the humiliation of seeing her naked again until he chose to. His armour was cold, raising fine bumps over her body but she held him all the tighter, pushing down a shudder to speak.

'Still so damn apologetic. I thought I'd taught you better than that by now.'

'You _have_ taught me,' Arlen replied quietly.

He was aware of her bare skin against his back and while he felt a sick fear at the thought, he also felt excited, exhilarated even. The feeling made his voice shake.

'You've taught me more than you can possibly know.'

The orange light of the cabin softened everything around Arlen, making his thoughts swim lazily. With a deep breath, he turned around, feeling Amanda's touch on him all the way. He kept moving until he faced her.

She was as tall as he was, he realised as their eyes joined. He gulped.

'B-back on Noveria,' he began haltingly. 'I wanted to ask. That is, I mean...'

He then became painfully aware of how naked Amanda was. He tried to keep his eyes focused on hers but they kept moving down to her lean frame. Her body was strong, he could tell, with hard ridges of muscle developed through years of care and training. It was certainly something he could appreciate.

'You okay?' she asked softly. 'You look like you're inspecting a horse.'

'A what?'

She laughed gently. 'Never mind. What were you saying, about Noveria?'

Arlen felt his skin flush and he smiled awkwardly. Amanda's hair shimmered like liquid gold while her eyes glinted below. He remembered a similar sight when they had first arrived on Illium and he took hold of it, knowing that she still looked beautiful to him.

He took a grip on his nerves, knowing there was nothing stopping him from speaking of the thoughts that had tormented him until that moment.

'Amanda, I've been thinking,' he said, 'a lot, actually. So much has happened to us and I'm never sure if these thoughts are just because of everything that's been going on but I feel...I feel close to you. Closer than I've ever felt to anyone.'

His mandibles quivered as he rushed to cover up his words, despite knowing he had said nothing wrong.

'What I'm saying is I'm thinking about you. A lot. It's strange. We're not even the same species but I'd-'

Keller pressed her hand against his face gently, stealing his voice with her touch.

'Come and lie down.'

He let Keller lead him back to the bed and she scooped up the fallen covers, wrapping them around her body with several quick movements. She slid over to the far side and allowed Arlen to settle next to her again.

Her face was flawless, her breath sweet on his neck. She smiled and slowly caressed his cheek.

'I wish we had time to figure this out,' she whispered, her eyes glimmering with a pang of sadness. 'I really do. I mean, I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel about all this myself. You hear about it all the time, living on the Citadel. You hear about Officer Vessitus hooking up with an asari matron from Patrol, or Captain Ayala settling down with her long-term girlfriend from Earth. It happens but it's never something you really consider until you find someone that...'

She shut her eyes and a rare trace of embarrassment crossed her features.

'It's so tempting to just let ourselves get carried away but we still have time to work it out.' She looked again into Arlen's eyes. 'We do have time. Right?'

The final, honest note of uncertainty rang in Arlen's ears. They both knew he was about to assault the stronghold of the Forgotten Legion. There was every chance he could soon be dead, their chance to make sense of their raging, conflicting feelings lost forever.

He wanted to clear his mind of them once and for all but in Amanda's voice he heard the truth; she was just as afraid as he was. The detective who always seemed so strong and capable, who almost intimidated him with her easy confidence, was no surer about her feelings than he.

The realisation made him lower his head, his eyes shut and a knowing smile spread across his lips.

'What's so funny?' Keller asked.

'I just realised something,' he answered, opening his eyes again to look at her. 'I still owe you a lunch when I get back.'

Keller giggled and tapped his chest playfully. In the same movement she took hold of his armour and dragged herself next to him, until she was close enough that he could feel the heat of her against skin.

Arlen slipped into the moment and allowed his arms to slip around her waist and shoulders, gently pulling her into an embrace. He wondered if he should remove his own armour but reluctantly accepted that there was no time.

He was satisfied with what little they could get, for the time being.

Keller pressed her head under Arlen's chin and he let out a blissful breath at her warmth.

'We'll talk more when you get back,' she murmured. 'Over dinner.'

A gentle, approving grumble sounded in Arlen's throat and he let his gaze grow distant.

He knew he did not need to thank her for simplifying everything. She would let him focus on his task, and when he returned to the Citadel she would be waiting.

The knowledge took the sting away from any thought of failure.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The streets of Armali quickly grew cold in the evening. As the sun fled from the deep blue bowl of Thessia's sky it dragged the darkness of night closely behind it, bringing a swift end to the warm days.

The colours of sunset were always accompanied by the snap of frost in the air at that time of year and Agent Danala I'Thori shivered into her long coat as she stared into the encroaching blackness.

Behind her the elegant towers and steeples of the city touched the cloudless expanse but in the outer reaches of Armali, among the foundries and estates of major companies and manufacturers, there was little room for artistry. No doubt the curved structures would still have looked elegant to the eyes of an outsider but an asari could easily tell when architecture was meant for function, not pleasure.

All around Danala, warehouses stretched into the distance, some still buzzing with activity as their workers and loading mechs tolled through the night. Those buildings were brightly lit and waves of noise rose from them, from high-pitched shouts to the warning sirens of heavy transports about to take off.

Danala shrugged her coat further up her neck, until her lips were barely a dark sliver above the upturned collar. She ran a hand along the rigid curves of her head and scowled.

It would be most uncomfortable when the cold set in. She suffered from headaches if exposed to low temperatures for too long but in the same thought, she knew she was close to her destination.

Her pale eyes moved up to the building in front of her. It was empty and still, with nothing to indicate it was still in use. Her check of local police records supported this; the two-storey warehouse was defunct, derelict. There was nothing there to even warrant a search.

Sighing, the matron took a step forward and readied her omni-tool. The order had come from Joint Security Task Force headquarters back on the Citadel. The effort had to be made.

She ignored the massive shipping door and made for a smaller one to her right before bringing her omni-tool up to the long-dead access panel. The bypass began and she waited impatiently, the cold snapping at her skin.

If JSTF were right and a viral attack was released on Illium from this location, surely there would at least be an active power source? As it stood, the warehouse was as dead as the night itself.

With a tired groan, the door rumbled open as the omni-tool beeped, acknowledging its success. Immediately the unpleasant odour of old dust entered Danala's nostrils and her lips twisted in distaste. She adjusted her coat again to shield her from the dirty air but this time she slipped her hands into her pockets and gave the grip of her pistol a reassuring squeeze.

It could be drawn in an instant, pulled from its holster through a large hole in the bottom. It felt good to know it was there as she stepped inside. 

The scraping of feet on stone rasped harshly through the empty building. Danala switched on her omni-tool's flashlight and swung the white beam around.

It cut through the shadow with ease, highlighting dozens of long, high rows of shelving. The contents had long since been cleared and even a cursory glance made it clear nothing of value remained. Danala angled the light up and found it could not reach the ceiling. Frowning, she continued on.

It was only a basic facility, the agent quickly gathered. There was only one office at the far end of the room and she made her way towards it immediately, knowing if she were to find anything, it would be there.

Her eyes drifted as she walked. Patches of the ground were stained green by old water leaks and thick, grey dust layered every crack. Her footsteps thumped against the walls, counting every second and for each one that passed, the more convinced Danala became that JSTF had sent her out there for nothing.

A sudden, hollow thud shook the air.

Danala's brows rose in surprise and she looked down at her feet. Even though the ground was caked in dirt, she could still see a faint depression. To the left of it ran a long, straight line. Frowning, she knelt and knocked against the ground.

Though it was the same dull colour as the floor around it, this section was only thin metal and the hollow clang cleared Danala's frown in an instant. She curled her fingers into the depression and pulled up with a grunt, and the dust fell in cloudy swirls as the door swung open.

'Well, what do you know,' the agent muttered to herself as she straightened and dusted off her hands.

She drew her pistol and held it out before her eyes, the flashlight illuminating her arc of fire perfectly.

Cold, grimy steps led down below the warehouse and she followed them with scarcely a thought. The passageway was narrow but the light carried far and she squinted at the sight of the ground far below.

The walls remained just as straight and confining, even at the bottom. Danala grimaced as she cast her eyes to the ceiling, noting the lack of any lights, or even cables to carry electricity.

She already felt something was wrong with the place, even before an odd stench made her features twist in disgust. It was similar to the foetid air of the upper warehouse but this was stronger, with a touch of something she could not describe. It held a sweetness that made her want to gag.

She felt the sudden release into space with relief, as if escaping from a trap and the shadows fell away into a large chamber. To her right a small desk had been set up.

She wandered to it and immediately held her breath at some of the items on display. The collection of devices must have been worth a fortune.

Her fingers reached out to turn over a small energy generator, similar to the ones that powered shields in armoured suits but adapted for external use. She traced along fine wires that connected it to a small terminal and lamp. The designs were more compact than anything she had seen and looked incredibly advanced to her eyes.

'Set up to activate at a certain time?' she asked herself aloud. 'Maybe even remotely?'

The terminal was secured to a portable extranet router and her doubts disappeared entirely. Someone had indeed used this room to transmit the Jamestown Virus to Illium, but more questions remained.

With a quick movement, Danala keyed a tiny radio secured to her chest and her omni-tool flared brightly with the power surge. 

'Lina? This is Agent I'Thori.'

The quarian's tone fizzed and sputtered at the other end as it struggled to reach Danala through the ground above.

'We read you. Have you found the virus release point?'

'Yeah,' the asari replied, 'it was released from a terminal underneath an abandoned warehouse in outer Armali. The thing is, the set up here is small-scale and I don't see any servers, or even a hard drive attached to this terminal. It looks like it could only remain powered up for a few minutes at the most by itself.'

'Use your omni-tool to boot it back up,' Lina ordered. 'I want to know what that terminal was used for.'

Danala bit her lip anxiously. She longed to explore the rest of the chamber but she did as she was told.

Her omni-tool shifted in blocks of amber light as it drew power to run the terminal and the console's display flickered to life a few moments later.

Danala leaned intently over the desk, the fingers of her free hand scrolling through the system logs with automatic ease. Finally, she reached the final entry and her mouth opened in shock.

'This terminal wasn't used to send the virus. It was only a relay, set up to bounce the signal to the upload point in Nos Astra.'

An alien curse garbled through the air. 'Run a trace. We need the origin point of that signal.'

Danala complied and stepped back. The terminal would remain operational for a few minutes but she was keen to see what else the chamber held.

The odd smell was growing unbearable and as she moved she detected a faint shape at the other side of the room, something long and flat, like a large table. With the terminal's light on her back, she stepped forward and held back a gasp as the shape took form.

It was not a table, she saw. It looked to be a huge box at first, but as she neared she noticed the top was hollowed out. Something was inside and the flashlight picked out the curves of a head, along with the deeper shadow of a thin, emaciated torso.

Danala's stomach convulsed as she realised where the repulsive stench was coming from.

A corpse lay before her, in a sarcophagus open to the frigid air.

There was something odd about it, however. Danala pressed closer in spite of her disgust, curiosity carrying her feet.

It was a salarian, she quickly realised.

The body was not bare-skinned but had been wrapped tightly in crusted, stiff old bandages. The eyes were sunken hollows while the arms had been crossed together before being bound in that position. It looked almost ritualistic, and Danala grimaced as the word 'mummification' crossed her mind.

In the corpse's grip, held firmly against its chest, something glinted.

With a trembling hand, Danala reached out and felt her fingers close around cold metal. It was smooth and round, a disc of iron or steel. She tugged gently at it, and with a puff of old dust the disc came free.

She held it up to the light. The medallion was gold in colour and fit snugly in her palm.

She turned it slowly, noting the plain inlay of crossed swords and the embossed logo of…

She narrowed her eyes. The central symbol was nothing but a few twisted lines, with no meaning for her. Still, she was certain someone could decipher it.

The terminal chirped from the other side of the room, startling her. She let out a small gasp before shaking her head, frustrated at her own nerves. The mummified salarian had sent a deep chill into her and she felt a sudden need to be out of that room as quickly as possible.

She stared into the terminal. 'Okay, trace is complete. I'm downloading the co-ordinates to my omni-tool now. That's not the only thing I found down here, either.'

'What do you mean?' Lina asked.

'I'll tell you once-'

A sudden whine cut through Danala's voice. An alarm, shrill and piercing, broke out from the console and she stood upright in shock.

She felt something new, a low hum that churned her stomach, and slowly she turned back towards the sarcophagus. The air around it had begun to shift and tremble with heat.

'Oh goddess…' Danala whispered.

She closed her eyes against the explosion as it scorched the room in a gout of cyan flame. It rushed up the stairwell in an avalanche of fire and swallowed the warehouse in an instant, lighting the night sky; a solitary blue pyre against the black.


	33. Chapter 33

 

A datapad slapped onto Lina's desk. The sound brought her eyes up from her terminal in an instant but any irritation she felt at being disturbed melted away quickly as she saw Milo staring back at her. 

'What have you got for me?' the quarian asked, her eyes bright beneath her helmet.

'First emergency reports, pulled straight from Armali police dispatch. That warehouse Agent I'Thori was checking out? Disappeared in a ball of blue flame fifty feet high. No civvie casualties but it made a big mess and a whole lot of scary noise. Still, we got lucky in that; asari media are buying the official line and calling it an accident.'

Milo hesitated for a moment. 'It's a shame Danala couldn't get out in time.'

'Of course not,' Lina muttered sadly as she clasped a hand to the forehead of her helmet. 'She was speaking to me when the bomb went off. There was no way she could have gotten out before...'

'Hey,' he said softly, 'it's not your fault. We had no way to know what would happen out there.'

Lina bobbed her head, though her sagging shoulders still gave away emotions that were painfully close to the surface.

It was obvious the bomb had been set up to kill any intruders and she should have been more wary of such a trap. The rush to claim any small piece of intel, any new lead on the virus outbreak was so great she’d gotten careless.

'Still,' Milo continued, 'we managed to get something.'

Lina's eyes shot up. 'Tell me it's something useful.'

'I don't know if it's worth a dead agent,' he replied, scratching the back of his neck, 'but it's something all the same.'

Milo glanced about suddenly before leaning close to Lina and lowering his voice.

'We need to talk about this in private. Follow me.'

Lina's stomach dropped at his sudden change in tone but she nodded nonetheless. Rising from her seat, she followed Milo as he cut a path through the command centre. Several colleagues lifted up their heads in curiosity but a sharp glance from the quarian sent their gazes back down.

Milo led her out of the main hall and into the small service corridor she’d used a day ago when finding a quiet spot to speak with Arlen. It brought back unwanted memories, of Peak Ten, and of Daro'Xen.

She tried to push them from her mind and focus on Milo as he came to a halt.

The corridor was silent and empty. Milo seemed aware of this and drew close to Lina, enough so that his voice would be just a quiet whisper to anyone who wandered by.

'I'm sorry, Lina,' he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. 'I just wasn't sure if I could talk about this without anyone overhearing in the command centre. With the way some people around here are acting, I just didn't feel it'd be safe to discuss it in the open.'

Lina crossed her arms against her chest and wandered to his side. Her own voice was heavy and tired.

'I know. This is a strange situation. What are you supposed to do when you have to watch your words around the very people who are meant to be putting a stop to all this? Around the people you're supposed to trust?'

'Counter-terrorism's a bitch, right?' Milo chuckled humourlessly. ‘Next time someone asks me about my job I’ll tell them it’s just like the vids. Minus the royalties.’

Lina managed a nod of agreement and for a moment considered that only a week ago she would not have given Milo the luxury of a private conversation. She felt the circumstances of their discussion as a deep burden, and lowered her head as he spoke.

'When that bomb went off on Thessia, I was in the middle of backing up Agent I'Thori's omni-tool data.' Though he couldn't see her mouth, Milo felt Lina's pleased exclamation coming and he raised a hand to cut it off. 'Before you ask, yes, the backup did include a copy of that signal trace but…'

He paused and his eyes drifted back in the direction of the command centre.

'The data was corrupted when the blast cut off the signal. I only managed to piece together a rough idea of the location.'

'It's better than nothing,' Lina said, unable to hide her hopeful pleasure.

The enthusiasm waned, however, as Milo's expression darkened.

'Lina, that signal, it came from the Citadel.'

The last word echoed in Lina's mind. She became very still, willing Milo's discovery to sink in, to make sense but it was as if she could not allow herself to believe. Her throat was dry as she finally answered.

'Where on the Citadel?'

'I don't know,' he replied with a shake of his head. 'As I said, the data was corrupted and I couldn't get anything specific. I was lucky to salvage what I could, especially before…'

He stopped himself from mentioning Danala's untimely end, almost out of superstition. The agent had left behind a bond mate and two daughters, all on the Citadel and it felt taboo to Lina too, to speak of her constantly.

Lina's hands reached up and grasped the rough fabric of her hood. She toyed with it nervously, running the cloth between her fingers and pulling it tight over the curves of her helmet.

It was a twitch she’d developed during childhood, whenever she had heard the tramping of feet come to haul her back to her mother. She would sit in a dark corner on the Moreh, fiddling constantly until rough, searching hands found her.

Now it signified a worry more intense and far more terrifying than the trifling fears that plagued her younger years. Whoever released the Jamestown Virus on Illium had done so from the Citadel itself. One of their major suspects was closer than they had imagined and only two people in JSTF could be trusted with the knowledge.

The situation made her head throb and ache, and as the truth settled in she felt the slow ache of despair grip her stomach.

'Keelah…what the hell are we supposed to do?' she whispered. Her voice was low as much out of sheer dismay as any attempt to remain unnoticed. 'There won't be any point in taking this to Chellick. With the way he’s acting, he'll just refuse to inform the rest of C-Sec and the Council. He could even have us taken off the team. We can't trust him.'

'What about Executor Pallin?' Milo offered hopefully.

'What would he say if the two of us just knocked on his door, without the approval of Chellick? He would sooner throw us out than look at us and even if Pallin did hear us out, what then? Do you think he'd just take our word for it? Commit C-Sec resources to a line of investigation without hard proof? Or do you think he'll wonder why he hasn't heard anything through the chain of command? From the person he put in charge of JSTF to begin with?'

Lina's head hung low and her voice was a pained murmur. 'He'd spend more time trying to get to the bottom of why everything's gone to hell here than stopping the Legion. Everything we've done so far, everything we've given would be wasted. All our sacrifices, and the sacrifices of others, all for nothing.'

'So let's follow this up ourselves. We can maybe assign Danners or Jorvus to look into it. They're both more than capable.'

Lina snapped out a mirthless laugh. 'Can you even begin to understand how vast the Citadel's internal comm network is? To even begin searching you'd need a full squad of techs working around the clock without rest. Our team is already stretched to breaking point as it is. We can't afford to go tasking people off to start trawling through Citadel communication records, not without a specific starting point.'

Milo's brow furrowed thoughtfully. 'What about getting agents in from the outside?'

'Too obvious. Chellick might notice if we start pulling half our field agents away from assigned areas. Even the agents themselves would question it eventually.'

The quarian sighed and her enviro-suit shook with the release of breath, her voice beginning to flake under the stress. She crossed her arms before leaning back against the wall.

'We need to tread lightly here or we could find ourselves under fire, and I'm not talking about the Legion.' Her white eyes narrowed as she saw Milo was barely listening. 'Hey, are you all there?'

Blinking, Milo looked up but he appeared ill. His mouth was a thin line and his expression was disbelieving. It was clear he did not want to speak his next words.

'What about Lorica?'

She didn't need him to clarify. 'Lorica? You don't think…?'

'Nobody knows where she was when the situation on Illium went to hell. Her behaviour was suspicious enough before but now…'

Again, Milo's features twisted as if nauseous and Lina felt a pang of sympathy for the young human. She did not like Lorica but she still didn’t want to believe it was possible she could be a traitor. For Milo, to see his lover in such a way would be no less than torturous and he visibly struggled to imagine her as someone who could cause death and destruction.

Lina wandered to his side and gently placed a hand on his arm.

'We don't know for sure yet,' she said softly. 'Let's not rush to conclusions.'

'Yeah,' he replied heavily. 'Yeah, you're right.'

'I'll keep an eye on her and watch for anything suspicious. While I'm at it, I'll see what I can do with the data you uncovered. In the meantime I want you to stay focused on trying to contact Arlen.'

Her chest heaved as she exhaled deeply, her body shuddering once again with tension.

'From the surveillance programs we snuck into Port Hanshan's servers along with Qi'in's little payment, we've learned that Arlen's shuttle didn't return from Peak Ten last night. Just another thing to add to this…this mess.'

The change came suddenly, with the last word to leave her lips. It was as if a veil had dropped, a curtain that had hidden her until now.

A pang of seething emotion entered Lina's voice, so intense that Milo’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

'I...I _knew_ it was risky, sending them alone. Arlen was injured, he was…I should've…I should've sent someone else, someone more experienced, or someone who…'

She trailed off and Milo filled the silence quickly. 'It wasn't your call, Lina. We all knew you weren't happy with Chellick's decision and if there’s any blame it lies with me too. We all had a chance to say something but we didn't. We all know Arlen and Keller are tough but it was only a matter of time before something went wrong and you can't hold it against yourself now.'

He eyed the quarian carefully and saw the absence of the milky ovals in her visor.

She had closed her eyes and was keeping them shut. She shivered lightly and Milo was startled to see a silvery glint beneath the glass, winding a thin trail down her cheek and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

Where she would once have shrugged the hand from her suit she allowed it to remain.

Milo's lips firmed with resolution and he placed his other hand on the opposite shoulder before gently pulling her body against his, keeping his hands high on her back.

Lina stiffened at first but he shushed and murmured to her, and after a few moments she shook with the release of guilt.

'I did everything I could,' she whispered, 'but it was never enough. I tried so hard and now Arlen's...' A sob broke through her clenched teeth. 'It's not fair…'

'Hey,' Milo replied gently, 'you're talking like all this is over. You said it yourself; we can’t jump to conclusions. It's not over yet, not while we still have a clue to what's really going on around here.'

They stood for a time in silence, a private blot of worry and fear in the cold halls. Eventually, Milo felt Lina's hands press against his chest lightly and he released her, sensing she was done.

He looked at her and smiled weakly, touching a hand to her arm.

'Are you okay?'

'Yes,' she responded, the strength in her voice returning. 'Yes, I'll be fine. I just needed to let that out, I think. It's all just been so much and the thought of Arlen…'

She stopped herself and again her eyes closed as she controlled her feelings. 'I knew he was too young, too inexperienced. I should’ve said something a long time ago, before it came to this. Still, it's done now. All we can do is try and salvage what we can of this investigation.'

Milo nodded, relief clear in his features. 'Where do we go from here?'

As before, she laughed without a shred of joy, as if their fates had already been decided and any plans they made were futile gestures in the wind.

Nevertheless, there was a hardness to her, an echo of the woman who forced respect and even admiration. It was what came with being capable enough to carve a place in C-Sec as an outsider, a member of an outcast race.

Lina straightened. 'Knowing that our commander is breaking the law? Knowing that the enemy is on this very station? I say we do our jobs.' Milo smiled as a new kind of enthusiasm entered her voice. 'I say we get out there and complete our mission, despite everything working against us. You humans have a strange habit of giving 'the finger'? I say we do that to everyone who gets in our way.'

This time, Milo's own laugh was genuine and he grinned broadly at Lina as they both started to walk back to the command centre.

'I like the sound of that.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen gasped and shook his head, sending a loose spray of lathery sweat through the air. The droplets seemed to hang, sparkling in the rust-tinged dusk for an age before falling down back to where the ground lay, far below him. 

His head followed, craning to look down back over his shoulders and he felt a spasm of weakness as the empty sky yawned at his back.

With the lapse in concentration, his hands slipped on the rope and he ground his teeth as he regained purchase, his breath hissing from his lungs in hot waves.

The shuttle had been left six miles away, hidden from both sight and sensors. It was the closest they could get without attracting the Legion's attention and the Corsairs had set out on the jungle march immediately, eager to make good time and establish a platform for the attack on Krassus' stronghold by the following day.

The pace had been brutal and Arlen felt the exhaustion of the previous days like a hammer blow, the weight of his own body becoming an excruciating burden as the hours passed in miserable, humid silence.

The jungle heat was the worst part. It made everything wet and itchy, driving him mad within the first few hours of landing on Zorya.

His feet scraped fine curtains of soil from the cliff as he managed to steady himself but still he itched beneath his armour, the feeling becoming a white-hot pain in its intensity.

It distracted him and he had to blink hard, over and over again to re-focus on Winterbourne, who was only a few feet above him and closing the distance with her disciplined descent.

Arlen twisted his head. The view of green-clad hills and troughs, made dark by the fleeing sun would have stunned him with its beauty under any other circumstances but it went by unnoticed at that moment. He could only concentrate on lowering himself down the rope, step by step, inch by inch.

'Hurry up!' Winterbourne yelled at him from above. 'This isn't a damn sightseeing tour!'

Arlen barely heard her. His head was a pulsing mass of senseless flesh and he felt a tug of envy at Winterbourne's clear, unshaken voice.

Every one of these humans seemed to be made of iron. They had been walking all day in the cruel heat and humidity and yet showed no sign of discomfort. Next to them, the young turian felt inadequate, weak.

He sensed the rope slipping through his fingers again and he clenched his fists around it desperately. His muscles cried out as he inched his way down but he ignored them.

He had fought assassins, mercenaries and soldiers to get there. He would not fail now.

Gradually, the shadow of the cliff fell over him and his feet left the face to seek out the ground below. Moss-covered stones and loose mulch greeted his boots and his eyes widened in surprise as he almost slipped.

Panicking, he tightened his hold on the rope to maintain balance and heard a loud curse from above as the motion rocked Winterbourne against the stone wall.

He paid no attention to her yells. Instead, Arlen slumped over his knees and looked towards the heavily equipment he would be forced to carry once again.

The boxes had been lowered to the ground first and were designed to be strapped to the backs of armour suits, though they were clearly meant for humans. Against the curve of Arlen's spine they were uncomfortable and awkward, and he dreaded the thought of the march continuing into the night with the heavy edges knocking against his suit the entire time.

'The major’s called a halt. Get a little rest while you can.'

A pair of boots crunched into the brown twigs and leaves before Arlen's eyes and he looked up to see a dark face that shone with sweat.

Jacob too was exhausted but he was calm, and he offered Arlen a small black bottle. Arlen stared at it for a moment and the sergeant shrugged.

'Just water. Good enough for us both, especially in this heat.'

Nodding, Arlen took the bottle and threw down several quick gulps. It was warm and slightly salty, and for a moment he worried about the presence of foreign bacteria. A human germ could wreak havoc on his body.

As his raging thirst receded, however, the worry fled his mind. There were far more dangerous things on this planet than an upset stomach.

Winterbourne thumped to the ground next to him and scowled for a moment before pushing past them both.

Jacob gave a small grin. 'Looks like you're making friends easily enough.'

'I got a little careless with my landing,' Arlen responded with a glance to where his flailing feet had cut deep, black grooves in the soft ground. 'Not as if I was here to make nice anyway.'

Jacob grunted, still smiling. 'Yeah, I figured the same thing. Figured I'm here to do a job, no point in goin' around, grinning like an idiot while I do it.'

He took a seat on the ground, on a mass of gnarled roots that ran along the jungle floor in twisted knots.

Arlen studied the man who spared his life, his eyes seeking out lines of deceit or subterfuge in the human's features. He seemed genuine enough but nothing was clear to Arlen anymore and the world seemed to grow more treacherous by the day, with trust becoming a valued commodity that could only be parsed out to the few.

It was yet another thing that went against all that turians were raised to believe. They were supposed to be able to trust their peers and superiors, obedience given without question but nothing was quite so simple any more.

Jacob returned his stare evenly and after a few seconds, Arlen joined him on the ground.

'Who are you people?' the turian asked. 'Really?'

Jacob took some time to answer. He gazed out into the darkening jungle ahead of them, the sound of rushing water underlying the high calls of birds and cackles of pyjacks.

'We're the Corsairs, an Alliance black ops team under orders to bring General Krassus in.' He turned to Arlen. 'I haven't been here long. Newest member of the team. Dukov and Weiss have been together since the Skyllian Blitz, though.'

'Weiss,' Arlen murmured, remembering the woman who had threatened Keller back on the Razor. 'I heard the big man, Miller, call her a 'warrant officer'. I wasn't aware such a rank existed in the Alliance.'

'It doesn't, and technically neither does the rank of major. It's a throwback to the old army structure, before the Alliance standardised it. Everyone who joins the Corsairs gains the rank of sergeant automatically on selection so I guess they need more NCO ranks to bridge the gap to officer.’

Jacob shrugged. ‘Or maybe it's just nostalgia, I'm not sure. Either way, even Weiss' superiors, like Lieutenant Winterbourne, don't question what she says. Weiss will salute Winterbourne’s rank without a thought but her experience is worth more than that any day of the week, and the lieutenant knows it.'

The sergeant grew still and his voice hardened. 'I'd be careful around her. The major's happy enough to accept your help - he'll take all that he can get, considering the opposition. But Weiss doesn't trust you, or many aliens for that matter.'

Arlen chose not to ask why. It didn’t matter to him. Hatred and mistrust seemed to be common enough among his own people that he knew better than to surprised.

'So,' he said quietly, 'your unit is here for the same reason I am, but without the approval of the Council. You're willing to break every law you can to achieve your goals. Is that what your black ops teams are? Success at all costs, no matter the consequences?'

'Corsairs are considered deniable by the Alliance, sort of a risk-free venture. Even if we're caught or killed, they'll disavow all knowledge of us. To everyone else we're pirates or worse.'

'It's more obvious than you realise.' Arlen looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You humans are a curious people, that you'd go to such lengths to bypass the laws you want so dearly to be a part of.'

'You turians don't have black ops units?'

'No,' Arlen replied, shaking his head firmly. 'We have special forces, like Blackwatch and Iron Talon but to go against the law of the Citadel? That just seems like anarchy, no better than the Legion.'

Jacob's response was instant and his eyes were unflinching. 'And it's part of C-Sec's job to be out in the Traverse? And I suppose Illium is part of your jurisdiction too?'

Arlen's mouth closed silently and he turned away, unsure. 'I've been tasked by the Council to do this. Laws aren't broken by the people who make them, they're just made anew.'

He stared as Jacob let out a low chuckle and shook his head.

'What's so funny?'

'Nothing. You just make things sound a lot simpler than they actually are. Is that your turian side talking, or your C-Sec side?'

Again, Arlen looked away rather than let his own uncertainty show. He clasped his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees.

He knew how to be a good turian. It was not even a matter of thought any more. It was something he felt whenever he spoke or made a decision, the ‘hands on his reins’ as Sergeant Heiros had put it back on Noveria.

Yet here he was, working against many of his own people with Alliance soldiers. No matter how much he knew his reasons were right, that fact kept nudging its way into Arlen’s thoughts, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He’d sworn an oath to defend the laws of the Citadel but Jacob's words had brought a nagging doubt to that once solid truth.

Were Interceptors different from the Corsairs, simply because it was C-Sec that gave the orders? All around him stood the evidence that strong men and women made their own laws while he struggled, insignificant in their shadow.

Jacob accepted his silence with a nod and rose to his feet. His features were a blank mask as he looked to where the sun had almost disappeared behind distant hills. He sighed gently, his face bathed in a thinning line of gold.

'No matter where I look - the Marines, Corsairs, C-Sec - it's all the same bullshit. Politics and hypocrisy. It's things like that which make me understand why the Forgotten Legion exist in the first place.'

Arlen looked up and began to speak, but the words deserted him. He wanted to say it was no excuse for terrorism but the men he had met, Vastra, Qi'in, Olansi, they had all proven the futility of blindly repeating the same idioms.

There was only so much a man could take before he fought back. Even when they did, their own motivations and consciences still plagued them. The Relay 314 Incident had shown those truths more than anything.

Arlen remained motionless in his thoughts until the call came to move on.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Thin fingers tapped erratically on the hard surface of the table, drawing a tired look from Garrus. 

He saw Kirrahe's lips were pursed as his mind went to work, no doubt dissecting the situation, analysing it and discarding everything he knew to be impossible.

It all still little made sense to Garrus but he almost smiled at Kirrahe’s enthusiasm.

This was the kind of work the salarian loved and he was in his element. Nations, civilisations were made and broken by the few and Garrus felt the fates of them all shift around him, shaped by the actions of Kirrahe’s men.

It was not why he’d allied with STG to begin with but it had become a reason for him to remain.

Kirrahe sat straight-backed in his chair, in the same apartment he had brought Garrus to so many days ago.

‘I’d thought our mission would be over by now,’ he mumbled distractedly. ‘I thought my men and I would be back on Sur'Kesh by now, toasting another success and an end to our obligatory part in the Yanus goose chase…’

He trailed off but Garrus knew exactly what he was going to say next - that the information extracted from Udina’s terminal had turned all of their expectations upside down.

So much more than they could fathom had been harvested from the ambassador’s files and the results had even brought them out in the Presidium in broad daylight to rescue him from a gang of hired killers.

Events had escalated beyond even Garrus’ comprehension and he barely glanced at Kirrahe as he cleared his throat gently. He slid a datapad, one of a growing pile, over to the other side of the table to rest in front of Garrus.

Garrus frowned as he picked it up and looked over the new information. 'How long ago?'

'A few hours at the most. Thessia is in uproar over the incident though thankfully, they believe it to be a drive core explosion, a case of poor storage and handling. I daresay if the bomb had gone off in a commercial or residential area and not a warehouse, the cover story would not stick.'

'And the signal definitely originated from within the Citadel?' Garrus asked.

He stared at the datapad, his eyes distant but his ears focused on Kirrahe's answer.

'As you know, through the reversal of the Mantius program we managed to introduce a trojan into the C-Sec network via Commander Chellick's terminal. While JSTF's own servers are far too secure for us to gain access without alerting anyone to our presence, we can still monitor a great deal of the Citadel's communications. There was no mistaking the sudden spike in outgoing comm-buoy traffic at two points. The first was the day before yesterday, when Nos Astra was attacked. The second occurred moments before the explosion on Thessia. Such occurrences can't be mere coincidence.'

'Official JSTF reports state one agent was killed in the blast,' Garrus murmured pensively as he set the datapad back down on the table. 'They also think it was a booby trap, triggered on activation of the console the agent found on-site.'

'This,' Kirrahe replied, tapping the datapad with a finger, 'proves otherwise. Someone was watching that agent and timed the detonation to coincide with her presence. And the only people who could have been watching her, who had any idea of her mission were-'

'JSTF,' Garrus finished.

The words left his mouth slowly and his eyes shifted in their sockets unsteadily with the sound of each syllable. He stared for a moment at nothing in particular.

'I can't believe it. Yanus has a mole within the task force itself.'

'The attack on Udina confirmed our suspicions,' Kirrahe said, folding his hands together. 'He must have discovered something, or was in danger of discovering something he wasn't supposed to.'

Garrus' brows drew together in thought. The ambassador was still unconscious in a local hospital, bloody but stable. Garrus would ensure the official C-Sec report would cite a mugging gone wrong as the official cause of injury. He hoped Udina would have the sense to let the matter rest.

'Something doesn't add up,' he murmured slowly. 'We know Chellick was the one who went after Udina but to do this? Have him killed in the heart of the Presidium? It's too far, even for him. Even if it was, I know he can't be working for Yanus. He carries more than enough dirt on his own hands. It just doesn't make sense; _why?_ '

Kirrahe spread his hands. 'With the power and resources at his fingertips, he's perfectly placed to carry out Yanus' instructions. He can call on intelligence agencies, special forces, local law enforcement and more in his role as JSTF commander. With the attack on Illium, the Jamestown Incident and now the bomb on Thessia, who would argue with him?'

Light footsteps tapped on the floor and both men turned their heads to the room's entrance. Kirrahe's men, who had been still and quiet in rest until that moment, sprang to their feet and braced to attention.

Following their example, Garrus too rose from his chair but he felt comfortable enough with the Councillor Tevos’ presence to remain relaxed as he watched her enter.

'I apologise,' Tevos said, dipping her head respectfully. 'It was not easy to leave without attracting attention and I cannot stay for long. The incident on Thessia has every major embassy scrambling to offer their outrage and condolences. My absence won't go unnoticed.'

Garrus nodded. 'We understand, ma'am.'

The councillor looked up to address Kirrahe as the most senior man in the room. 'It is fortunate there were no civilian casualties, but the attack is still an affront to all of us, an insult that cannot go unpunished. I understand you have made progress in tracking down the one responsible?'

'We have,' Kirrahe answered solemnly.

'Good. I fear this poison has run too deeply in our own organisations to remove with brute force.' She turned her shimmering blue eyes to Garrus. 'Thank you again for your honesty, Agent Vakarian. If you had not told me what Chellick was doing then we would still be fumbling in the dark, without a way forward.'

Garrus felt his throat tighten and he nodded stiffly. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Kirrahe and his team were reporting directly to the Council in their investigation of Yanus but the reality was still jarring.

He set the feeling aside and answered. 'Yes, ma'am, we were discussing Chellick just before you arrived. The captain here thinks he may be Yanus' man on the Citadel.'

'He has already tried to have Ambassador Udina killed,' Kirrahe continued, 'and his attempt to reach you through Agent Vakarian here cannot be ignored.'

The councillor bowed her head, her expression grim. 'Yes, I know, and that is not all.'

Their curious stares followed her as she paced across the room, stopping before the window. The ward arms spread out under her distant gaze, a million lights shining more brightly than even the stars beyond.

'I have also received word from my own source that Chellick has forbidden any news regarding the investigation from leaving JSTF. This includes the Council itself.'

Garrus' mouth parted slightly in a silent gasp. 'But that's…why would he do that? Withholding vital information is nothing short of treason. He's lost his mind!'

'Yet another sign of his guilt, in my view,' Kirrahe said, 'and of his connection to Yanus. It's clear Chellick has been monitoring the investigation and now, just as the links to Yanus have been uncovered, he's desperate to eliminate all traces that could lead back to his master.'

The captain eyed both Garrus and the councillor very carefully, weighing their reactions as he spoke.

'Chellick must be taken out, before he grows desperate enough to use his position to greater effect.'

Garrus turned to him. 'What do you mean?'

'Chellick has complete authority over an extensive network of experienced field agents, as well as Council-level access to every intelligence network in Council space. He has the authority to draw resources from every major military organisation in the galaxy, with the exception of the Spectres. Every moment he remains in that position increases the risk that those assets could be used to strengthen Yanus, or weaken us.'

'This still doesn't add up,' Garrus growled, shaking his head. 'Chellick is ambitious, manipulative, but a traitor?'

His mind was a racing blur of thought. He thought he’d known Chellick for years but had already been shown his error in that. Still, Garrus had seen something in the commander's eyes when he had been ordered to confront Tevos. It was the naked, ugly glint of fear.

That was not something even Chellick could disguise and by that alone, doubt gripped Garrus. It hadn’t been the calculated look Chellick had shown before and there had been a desperation in him that went further than what Kirrahe was suggesting.

'I understand this is a shock to you,' Kirrahe replied, 'but you must see the truth. There cannot be any other explanation for this.'

'We could just haul him in and see what he knows?'

The salarian shook his head firmly. 'I doubt he will talk and even if he did, what real evidence do we have to back up our claims? Our suspicions may be real to us but to a neutral party they would not appear enough to act on. He could well deny everything and be left to disappear, along with any further trace of Yanus.'

Kirrahe's eyes were large and dark as he stared at Garrus. 'This is a different world to that of C-Sec, Agent Vakarian. This is a world in which decisions must be made instantly, without hesitation or regret. There can be no half-measures, only decisive action. The stakes are too high to allow any thought of weakness.'

Garrus felt the room begin to spin, as ever the speed of events overtaking him.

Still, this time it was different. He had always been forced to adhere to C-Sec's rules. Its red tape had bound him, driving him slowly mad for years. Now Kirrahe was showing him a different world, a taste of freedom where he felt the choking noose of regulation fall from his neck with exhilarating release.

A small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, pulling his mandibles apart.

 _This_ was to be alive, he knew. This was the ability to make decisions, right or wrong, without the constant, dragging fear of reprisal or second-guessing. He only wished he had it when he’d chased Doctor Saleon.

Garrus glanced at the councillor. 'And the consequences?'

The asari regarded him with cold grace. 'This is a desperate time, Agent Vakarian. I cannot alert the rest of the Council to these developments without risking our exposure to Yanus. Chellick singled me out for a reason and until we know why, we cannot trust that he doesn't have people close to the other councillors also. We do know, however, that the Citadel is compromised. It is likely that Chellick already suspects the depth of our knowledge so we can't risk moving openly. Deal with Chellick and then we can continue the hunt. When we have Yanus, we can then consider a return to more traditional forms of justice.'

To hear the flat approval in the voice of one of the most powerful women in the galaxy gave Garrus a strength he could barely believe.

Taking in a deep breath, he nodded to her and Kirrahe. It would have to be him. No one else could get inside JSTF, or close to Chellick without raising suspicion.

'Eliminate Chellick,' Kirrahe repeated, his stern voice loud in the small apartment, 'and locate any clues to Yanus' location you can find within JSTF's internal network. That is your task. We have never been this close to Yanus, not in all our history. Don't fail us, Agent Vakarian.'

Slowly, Garrus nodded again and strode away, his hand falling to his pistol as an afterthought to test its position in the holster.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Insects creaked all around the rough camp the Corsairs had made. The noise assaulted Arlen's senses as much as the heat and moisture had done during the day and it seemed to him that the jungle was determined to make him as uncomfortable as it possibly could every second he was there.

The sky was dark blue and full of stars, which picked out the shivering foliage around him in silver lines.

It was still beautiful, he thought to himself as he gazed out into the peaceful gloom, no matter how loud and deadly it appeared.

He had taken first watch without a thought and the Corsairs had chuckled to themselves at his eager willingness to volunteer. He was not alone, of course, and Taylor could be heard some distance away as he walked a short patrol around the perimeter.

Arlen's jaw tensed as he considered the sergeant.

Taylor's earlier words still bothered him, to the point where his mind would drift to them during every quiet moment. He couldn’t allow himself to like the human, but he certainly seemed honest enough for Arlen not to dislike him. Taylor appeared to have been appointed as Arlen's personal minder but the man had not complained. In fact, he seemed to talk to Arlen more than any of his own squad mates, a situation that perplexed the turian more than anything.

He heard the crunch of boots on dry twigs before Jacob's voice thrummed in the air.

'Nothing. You?'

Arlen cocked his head. 'All quiet, or rather, as quiet as it can get.'

'Yeah,' Jacob chuckled. 'Those bugs really are somethin'. I ain't seen even half the things I’ve seen here anywhere else in the galaxy. It's damn impressive for anybody to live here, if you think about it.'

'Just as your Earth rats nest in the filthiest places,' Arlen muttered.

'Either way, we'll have our work cut out for us tomorrow. We'll have moved to within visual range of the Legion base by midday and set up an OP. Once we've scouted the place a little, the major will have a game plan ready.'

The wind rustled the surrounding trees, bringing with it an odd smell as the land released the heat of the day. It was unlike anything Arlen had experienced before, a blend of rotting peat and fresh, green vegetation, a mixture of life and death. He winced at his own wandering thoughts, as if that was all his mind ever did.

'Earlier today, back at the cliff.' He paused, his eyes on the distant treeline. 'When I asked who you - your people - were, you hesitated. Why?'

Jacob's expression was serious as he approached Arlen's side and joined him in his vigil.

'Funny thing to remember. You been waiting all day to ask that?'

'I've had little else to do but think. My body can handle hardship while my mind works independently, a benefit of my…early training. It's more of a curse than anything sometimes.'

'So, you weren't happy with my first answer?' Jacob asked.

Arlen sniffed, taking in more of the strange air. 'It was pretty obvious, you know. For a human, you're not difficult to read.'

For a second, Jacob frowned, but it eased in a heartbeat. His lips drew back to reveal white teeth and he smiled without embarrassment.

'Yeah, I heard that before. Maybe it's just 'cause I don't try to hide anything. It's not a soldier's job to conceal everything he is. That's why it's just easier not to get involved with the people you work with.' He broke the air with a sharp, bitter chuckle. 'All right, since you asked. Your file was dug up by Alliance Command as part of our briefing for this op. The 'competition', the major called you.'

Arlen knew he shouldn’t have been surprised but he asked all the same. 'It was leaked from our military's high command?'

'Personnel records are never really hard to find,' Jacob explained. 'Or so I understand. Still, earlier on I was about to ask you something, that's all.'

Sighing, Arlen loosened his aching shoulders. 'Now's as good as time as any. Let's hear it.'

Slowly, the smile disappeared from Jacob's lips. 'The file mentioned your father, General Renius Kryik.' He ignored the sudden intake of breath and the rigidity that entered Arlen's body. 'I wanted to ask you, how did-'

Suddenly, Jacob paused and narrowed his eyes into the jungle ahead.

Surprised by the abrupt silence, Arlen opened his mouth but the intensity of Taylor's glare stopped him from speaking. He followed the gaze but saw nothing but darkness.

Then it came to him as well. Not a sight, but a sound. It was faint, as if being muffled, but it was there all the same.

'Proximity sensors?' Arlen asked tentatively.

'Yeah, but they're being scrambled.' Jacob's eyes narrowed into pale slits, then widened as he yanked down on Arlen's shoulder.

'Get down!'

No sooner had the words left his lips than the jungle lit up around them. Broken streams of blue rifle fire sliced through the dark, shattering the nearby trees into splinters.

Arlen's nostrils were filled with the stench of dank earth and wet leaves as he pressed himself into the ground and the heat of slugs could be felt as stinging lines above his fringe. Somewhere, a part of him vaguely realised that Taylor had saved his life.

The human did not seem to care, nor even register the action. Jacob had shouldered his rifle and begun to return fire, the weapon chattering against his body, lighting his face in bursts of white.

Arlen drew out his Mantis and joined him but there was barely anything to shoot at. Enemy fire spat out from the shadows but he couldn’t make out any shapes in the gloom, or at least nothing he could aim for.

All he knew was that there were at least half a dozen of them, and if they were the same group that had chased him down on Noveria, there would be more circling around to trap them.

Arlen's head snapped to Jacob, his white paint flashing like shards of lightning as the night lit up.

'Fall back!' he shouted out. 'Warn the others!'

Jacob shook his head, his eyes still down-range. 'I didn't bring you all this way just to see you get killed!'

Arlen gripped the sergeant roughly on the shoulder and yelled out again.

'They'll be coming around the other side. We don't have the element of surprise here, Taylor, you know that!'

Finally, Jacob faced Arlen and saw the turian's resolve like fire in his gaze.

'If you stay here, you'll all die,’ Arlen repeated. ‘Fall back and find another route to Krassus. I'll delay them as best I can.'

Jacob looked at him, appalled. Arlen knew he had good reason to be worried. They’d been more than careful in their approach. The Legion shouldn’t have detected them!

A sick fear crept into his stomach at the thought that their surprise, the one advantage they had over their enemy, was lost for good. Instead, they now found themselves forced on the defensive before they'd even begun.

Jacob took stock of the situation, and after a few seconds he nodded grimly. They had to retreat for now. His eyes shone with respect for Arlen, and he nodded to the young man earnestly.

'All right, just try and get away if you can.'

'Don't worry about me,' Arlen muttered. He tried to conceal the guilty blink that accompanied the remark. 'Just move, now!'

Clasping a hand to Arlen's shoulder in farewell, Jacob rose to his feet and sprinted away, crashing through the undergrowth without a backwards glance.

Arlen counted the seconds and released his breath, as well as the trigger of his rifle, and all grew quiet once again as the enemy assessed the situation.

His eyes darted about the forest floor in front of him as his thoughts raced.

What the hell he was thinking? The idea had come in a momentary flash but now doubt festered in his mind, gnawing away at him. His legs twitched with the urge to run and yet he knew that if he did, he would lose his best chance, his only chance, to accomplish his mission.

It all lay with the fact that he was different from the Corsairs, in at least one respect. It was a difference the Legion would certainly see.

Throwing his hands into the air with a jerk, Arlen waited.

His breathing was torrid and hard, rushing out through his open mouth like a geyser. He shook with undisguised terror at what he was attempting to do but it was too late for regrets or second thoughts.

Again, he felt a stab of remorse at Taylor's open admiration of his bravery. Instead of a heroic last stand, Arlen was doing something very different.

It did not take long for heavy feet to come stalking through the darkness, filling the air with shuffles and the cracking of branches. Arlen kept his head down, not needing to look up to see the rifles trained on his prostrate form. He felt them as surely as he would a flame on his skin.

He focused on keeping his hands in the air to show he was unarmed, his eyes closed in horrified anticipation of a slug in his back at any moment.

'Looks like he got him,' a turian voice growled maliciously. 'The tribune was right, as always. Look at the tracks, though. There was at least one other here. Do a sweep of the area and report but don't expect an army. The ship he arrived in was batarian. Probably just some merc scum he picked up on the way. They won't stick around without their employer.'

'Yes, Sir!'

Arlen heard the thick slap of a fist on armour; a turian legion salute, he was certain, and then the marching of several pairs of boots away from his position.

Then it came.

'You're in a world of shit, boy. Make your peace with the spirits, because we sure as hell ain't gonna make it with you.'

Arlen glanced up to see a rifle butt rush into his vision. A second, and a spike of pain later, the world went black around him.


	34. Chapter 34

 

Arlen tried not to cry out as he was roughly hauled to his feet. His wounds were searing welts of agony and he felt a tickling stream of blood run down his arm as it oozed from a reopened cut. 

The feeling of fresh air on his skin crept through both the fog of pain clouding his mind and the blindfold of cloth that had been tightly wrapped around his eyes. The sensation could only mean that his armour had been removed, and he sensed the cool touch on his shoulders and back, his whole torso stripped bare.

He tested his limbs and muffled a moan behind pursed lips.

His wrists were bound behind his back, so that his arms were twisted awkwardly and any movement was met by a wrenching spike of pain. It became so great that blue sparks appeared in his vision and a coughing groan strained from his throat as he became unable to contain his voice.

Sensing the dragging of his feet across the ground, Arlen's legs flailed slightly as he tried to find a purchase but it was no use. He was being carried, with two strong arms hooked under his own and no amount of struggle on his part would slow him down.

Instead he forced himself to listen, all of his strength going into what he could use rather than what he could not. He heard the trickling of running water from somewhere off to his right, and murmuring voices to his left. He struggled to focus on everything he could, to take in as much detail of his surroundings as possible.

Suddenly, the men carrying him halted and before he could gather himself Arlen was thrown into a chair.

He felt hands on him then, hard fingers that forced him to lean forward as his arms were pulled and looped over the back of the chair. The strain made him gasp.

'Still with us, boy?' a voice growled. Arlen faintly recognised it from the jungle, the one that spoke before he was knocked unconscious. 'Is he awake? We need him awake.'

Arlen jerked as a hand struck him hard on the cheek and another turian spoke out of the patchy brown light filtering through the blindfold.

'Come on kid, you're not dead yet.'

Arlen's mandible's flexed and he winced immediately at the sting that came with it. He hadn’t been gagged and he croaked out an answer.

'I'm guessing that's going to change soon.'

The first soldier grunted. 'Not up to us, son. The general wants to meet you first, and I'm guessing Tribune Varn will definitely want to see you again after what you did on Noveria.'

A note of respect entered the man's voice.

'Assuming you're the one who gave us such a run for our money, of course. Though I'm rightfully angry about what you did to our brothers out there, I have to say your skills are impressive. A pity your mercenary friends didn't share your courage back there in the jungle. It could have gotten interesting.'

Arlen's lips opened but he snapped them shut instantly. He remembered his captors had mentioned batarians before he was knocked out. If the Legion thought the Corsairs were nothing but common pirates then the humans may yet regain the advantage.

He raised his head, blinking against the needling pain in his neck. 'What are you going to do with me?'

'As I said, not my decision,' the man replied. 'The Legion doesn't execute fellow turians when we can help it but after all the trouble you caused, they might make an exception. Usually we try to help our wayward people recognise the error of their ways so they can find a place among true turians. Whether or not the general wants to take that chance with you, I don't know.'

'I'll never join you.' Arlen snapped.

The soldier chuckled knowingly. 'I said the same thing a long time ago. The general will make you see. He always does.'

A loud, metallic rasp sliced through the air, drawing an instinctive shudder from Arlen's body as it grated through his senses. A heavy locking bolt slid out of position and moments later it was accompanied by the scrape of iron on concrete.

Hinges groaned as the cell door swung aside and Arlen heard armoured boots thump the ground in front of him.

'He's conscious?'

The voice sounded strange to Arlen. It was old, undeniably turian, and yet it was not deep or even particularly strong. It held a certain abrasive snap, something that made Arlen cease every movement to the point of holding his breath, just to hear what it would say next.

The soldier saluted with a thud. 'Yes, Sir. Conscious and fully aware, awaiting your attention.'

Arlen felt, rather than saw a pair of eyes turn to him and the newcomer spoke again.

'Leave us.'

Feet shuffled and once more the heavy metal door closed with a jarring screech. Several seconds passed, enough for Arlen to consider speaking, if only to see if anyone was still there.

As the thought crossed his mind, his head was yanked back savagely and he felt the blindfold slip away from his eyes, filling them with blinding whiteness. Slowly the glare faded to reveal green-stained stone walls, glistening and wet with condensation, illuminated by a single window set high into the wall behind him.

His seat was in the middle of the room, next to a sturdy iron drain. Streaks of dark blue tarnished the ground in sickly rivers, all leading into the barred hole.

A fierce panic gripped Arlen which he did his best to smother. He didn’t need to be told it was turian blood.

'So,' spoke the man in front of him, 'you're the young man who's been killing my men? Dogging our steps for so many days?'

Arlen lifted his gaze to find an old turian glaring at him forcefully. The skin was grey as slate while imposing blue lines framed his mandibles and eye sockets.

He recognised the face immediately and took in a sharp breath.

'General Krassus.'

Krassus frowned softly. 'You know me by sight, even though you can't have spent more than a year in the legions. You're certainly not old enough to recognise me from the military. I assume then you're searching for me for a purpose. Your actions and investigations have done my organisation great harm, so you're obviously not looking to be recruited into my ranks. Your methods have been largely overt, determined, aggressive, so I don't believe you to be a spy.’

He paused thoughtfully. ‘An assassin, then? I would say you're too young but I know as well as anyone that age means nothing to a warrior. A soldier can grow old in a single day. What do you say, Agent Kryik? Are you here to kill me?'

Arlen could not completely hide his surprise. 'You know who I am?'

'Of course,' Krassus replied. 'I'm not a fool, Arlen. Your name alone would be enough to gain my curiosity but…' The general's voice grew quiet. 'You didn't answer my question. Are you here to kill me?'

Arlen's nostrils hissed as they widened. It was getting harder to breathe as his bindings chafed, though he tried to keep his voice steady.

'No, General. I'm here to arrest you.'

'Arrest me,' Krassus repeated, 'a fine notion. So, you're the C-Sec agent Varn saw on Illium, here to haul me in to account for my crimes instead of giving me a knife in the back. Well, for that you have my thanks. It's much more fitting than assassination, though hardly as noble as a good death in battle. I wonder if what's left of my honour could tolerate a trial.'

He grunted mildly. 'Either way, I'm sure you understand that I can't allow it, no matter how deserved it may be.'

'What are you talking about?'

Krassus smiled ruefully and lowered himself to a knee so he could speak into Arlen's eyes.

'I know what I've done, young man. I won't deny the horrors I've inflicted, no good turian ever would. I do believe, however, that our goals are worth the cost. A turian knows he's done wrong but if his motives are clear, he will not regret it. I took no pleasure in the destruction of the Jamestown but it had to be done, to mark the beginning of a return to our true path. If I have to bear the burden of an atrocity so we can right the wrongs of our people, then so be it.'

The odd light in the general's gaze reminded Arlen of Coleran Vastra, though instead of being consumed by his grief and indecision as Vastra had been, Krassus held a firm determination; a resolution that made Arlen swallow hard. He’d rarely before seen as much strength as he now saw in those hard eyes.

'There's nothing I can say to make you come in peacefully?' he asked.

Krassus shook his head sadly, his mouth a thin line.

'No, I'm afraid not. I still have too much to do, too big a part to play in the future of the turian race to go peacefully to my end. You, on the other hand…'

Arlen looked up sharply into his searching gaze.

'You aren't quite so strong in your convictions. Certainly you've gotten this far but I don't think your love or dedication to the Council or C-Sec has carried you here. So I ask you, why? Why have you pushed yourself so hard just to track me down?'

Arlen almost answered immediately, unthinking. The older man's voice seemed to sink into him, a fatherly drone that compelled him to confide. He wanted to explain his doubts, the itching worries of whether or not his actions were truly just.

Back on Noveria, Heiros had given him cause to question his turian-instilled instincts, while Sergeant Taylor had made him think more closely about his role as Interceptor during their long march. Perhaps the human had been right, and they were indeed all cut from the same cloth, Forgotten Legion, Council and Alliance alike.

Was Krassus right? Had simply being a Citadel agent been enough motivation to get him this far?

Krassus nodded slowly. 'You don't have to answer. I didn't expect you to. Your own doubt is not through personal weakness but a rightful insight into the very values you've held for so long. It takes a strong man to break those chains and an even stronger one to remain true to what he holds dear when they're broken, even in the face of his own actions, right or wrong. It's what every member of the Forgotten Legion has had to do since the day they joined. We'll see if you can do the same over the next few days.'

As the general stood the door scraped open again, causing him to glance back over his shoulder.

'Are you ready to begin, Avitus?' Krassus asked.

Arlen’s mouth ran dry as he realised this was Avitus Varn, tribune of the Legion.

Varn nodded and stepped aside to allow another turian entry, a sand-skinned man with slashes of red above and below his eye sockets. He sported a vicious grin and his mandibles twitched with obvious excitement at the sight of Arlen bound to the seat.

Krassus turned to him and spoke without a trace of emotion. 'Centurion Tacitus. You have my leave to break him. He's strong but uncertain. I'm sure you will be able to convince him to see things our way. Either that or he will die. You know what to do.'

Tacitus' smile widened and his voice poured from his lips in a sinister sneer. 'Yes, Sir.'

'Sir,' Varn said suddenly, prompting both soldiers to look at him. He continued, his eyes locked on Arlen. 'With your permission, I'd like to spend some time with him personally.'

Krassus stared at his Second for a time before nodding.

'Very well, Tribune. I'll leave him in your capable hands.'

The general closed the door behind him and Arlen suddenly felt desperately alone. The two remaining men eyed him coldly, as a butcher would a piece of meat before the cleaver fell.

Varn stepped towards him before kneeling to his level. The tribune's face was expressionless, the clinical tone of his voice chilling.

'You were the one on Noveria. The sniper.'

Arlen said nothing, though Varn seemed to expect this and continued after only a few seconds of silence.

'You killed a lot of my men back there, Interceptor. Good men, not Council lapdogs like you or privateer scum like those amateurs Yanus hired. I doubt you're experienced enough to know anything of the grief cycle warriors face so I'll explain it to you. The death of a comrade can be overwhelming to begin with. Sometimes it feels like the loss of a limb. As time passes though, it becomes a simple fact of war, as much a part of conflict as firing a rifle or digging a hole. One thing remains constant, however.'

He glanced at Tacitus, who handed over a pair of thick gloves. Varn slipped the gloves on, stretching the padded cloth over his fingers. Tacitus waited patiently before producing a small, black case from his belt pack.

Varn took it slowly and set it on the floor before opening the lid carefully.

Arlen's eyes narrowed as something flashed red and orange in Varn's grip, then widened as the tribune held up a squirming, brightly-coloured insect. The thing was long, fat and bloated, with hundreds of black-toed feet wriggling and clutching desperately at the air.

'One thing remains constant,' Varn said again, 'and that is the desire to avenge those fallen comrades. Revenge gives us purpose and we always swear to make their killers pay for their deaths.'

His golden eyes turned to the insect in his hand.

'This is a bloodworm, native to Zorya and utterly poisonous to the touch. Each of its feet releases a defensive toxin that is said to burn dextro-skin like acid. I've felt it myself and I can tell you, words do the pain no justice. That's why I've prepared this little piece of retribution, for all the wives you’ve left without husbands, all the sons without fathers.'

Arlen's lungs heaved, dragging the breath noisily in and out of his body as Varn's intention became clear. Instinctively, his arms worked in vain to overcome their bonds and Varn reached out with his other hand to grip Arlen on his bare shoulder.

'For all the pain you've inflicted upon us, I'll return to you a hundredfold. The general wants information from you; how much the Council knows about us, how many agents C-Sec has on our trail but right now I'm not interested in anything you have to say. I just want you to hurt. Pain will come now. The time for talk will come later.'

Now Arlen knew Varn had no interest in a true interrogation, he steeled himself as best he could. He sucked air through his nostrils and straightened his back defiantly.

Varn raised the flailing red worm into the air before lowering it onto Arlen's shoulder.

The young turian blinked as his skin began to itch, then he shuddered as waves of stinging fire flowed from the spot. The bloodworm reacted to the motion and began to crawl in a blind panic, spreading the pain with every step across Arlen's body.

Sweat began to pour into his eyes and his legs shook. He pressed his lips together with all his strength but his voice worked through, pushing muffled gasps against the roof of his mouth with terrible force.

The burning increased as the worm passed along his back and from the corner of his vision Arlen saw the skin on his shoulder had begun to rise in swollen purple blotches. He gagged on his own stifled cries.

Varn watched calmly before gesturing to Tacitus, who drew another bloodworm from his case. Varn placed it on Arlen's other shoulder and stepped back, content to watch as he convulsed in his seat.

The agony grew too much for Arlen and he finally let out a scream, the sound crashing against the hard walls and rising through the window, into the jungle beyond.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'So that's it?' Jacob asked, his brow furrowed angrily.

Weiss took a pace forward and pointed sharply in the direction they had come.

'Stow the attitude, Taylor, this isn't the time! I don't care how many idiot turians throw their lives away, the surprise is gone and the enemy know we're here. Attacking that base is bloody suicide at this point. The best chance we have of finishing this job is to use that drive core we salvaged from the Kowloon. We drop that thing from orbit and there'll be nothing left alive in a two-mile radius.'

'What if the bomb doesn't work? Or what if Krassus has an underground shelter? The area will be toxic for months and we don't have the gear to go poking through the rubble to confirm the kill.'

Weiss glared at him icily. 'It'll be toxic for him too, you damn fool. Even if he does hole up underground, he won't be able to move about any time soon. We can hand over to the Marines and let them smoke the bastard out at their own pace!'

The other Corsairs looked on with weary expressions as they sat wherever they could find space. The damp forest floor, toppled tree trunks, every inch that was not covered in thick vegetation became home to a soldier's backside as they rested their exhausted bodies.

They had fallen back from the Legion ambush in good order and worked hard to put a couple of miles between them and their attackers. After laying up in a concealed position until dawn, Dukov had given the order to stand down when it was apparent they hadn’t been followed.

The major watched Weiss and Jacob's argument with detached interest, his eyes drifting as his mind worked to find the best course of action.

Beside him, Chen drew his water bottle and took an appreciative slurp before raising his voice to compete with the others. 'For what it's worth, I think Taylor has a point. We only have one shot at taking Krassus in alive and that shot's worth a whole lot more than if he's dead.'

To the far right, Sergeant Hammond rose to his feet, the imposing shape of his Widow rifle resting neatly across his back. 'It ain't worth dying for. No way. Never thought I'd say this but to hell with the bounty. Let's just drop the bomb and call it a day, let the grunts clean up the mess.'

'To hell with the bounty?' Chen snorted. 'Never thought you'd say that either.' He wagged a finger sarcastically as he twisted around to face Miller. 'That's when you really know a mission's gone to hell. Since when is the squad cheapskate okay with throwing money away?'

'I'm okay with it when the alternative is God-damned suicide!' Hammond argued back.

Leaves crunched beneath Weiss' boots as she took a step towards Jacob. She paid no attention to the others as she kept her frigid eyes squarely on the sergeant's.

'Why don't you just admit the real reason you want to go in?'

Jacob's response was short and indignant. 'What are you talking about?'

'You just want to get in there to rescue your little turian friend, don't you? He got himself banged up and you want to go charging in there to rescue him. For all we know he probably got caught on purpose! He probably told them all about us and they're just waiting for us to attack so they can close the bloody net! Your sympathy towards that damn alien might end up getting us all killed, Taylor.'

Jacob and Chen answered together, their voices rising in volume in unison with Weiss and Hammond's until they mingled into a single drone that flowed and snapped through the stifling air.

Around them the jungle trees rustled, as if in response and finally Dukov levered himself upright, his voice barking out and cutting through the others.

'All right, that's enough!'

His men fell silent in an instant, though Jacob and Weiss still glowered as their eyes turned to him. Dukov ignored them.

'The way I see it, we have two options. First is to attack the Forgotten Legion stronghold ourselves,' he said, looking at Jacob before turning to Weiss. 'Second is to rig the Kowloon’s drive core to explode and drop it from orbit. That would seem the safer option, but…'

He fell quiet and the rest of his team grew puzzled at his hesitance. Dukov glanced up at the hazy green canopy above them, taking in the soft dapples of light that escaped through the leaves.

With everything that had happened, from the pirate ambush to the battle with the Legion on Noveria, he was beginning to feel his age and though it did not show, he felt the fingers of time creeping up his spine, cold and merciless. Once he would have scoffed at the thick jungle heat, enduring it with grim determination but now he felt it prickle up his neck in sharp pinches.

Getting old was not a comfortable feeling for a soldier and he privately dreaded the mornings, when his joints would ache and he would constantly ask himself just how many missions he had left in him.

Exhaling deeply, he let his eyes drift down to Jacob.

The sergeant returned his gaze defiantly, and in that Dukov was astonished to find a measure of satisfaction. Taylor would follow his orders without hesitation, of that the major had no doubt but he also possessed a raw, wilful streak, something that Dukov himself had missed from his days of youth.

Next to old soldiers like himself and Weiss it was a nostalgic sight, one that he longed to find in himself once more. One way or another, this would be the last time Dukov would lead soldiers for the Alliance. He would not let it end in failure.

'But,' he finally said, 'the Corsairs don't go for the cushy option.' He glanced at Weiss and Hammond stonily. 'And we certainly don't rely on others to get the job done. We go into every op knowing that it will likely be our last. That knowledge drives us to be faster, more alert, better than any other soldiers in the Alliance.'

Dukov straightened and stepped to the front of the team. 'I've known some of you for most of my military career. You're all the best humanity has to offer and we're going to show the Legion why.'

Weiss' aggressive stance eased at Dukov's words and, to the surprise of everyone around her, she grinned slyly.

'Too right, Sir. Sorry for the defeatist talk.'

'You know me well enough to know I'd never doubt you for a second, Kristen,' Dukov replied with a subtle smile of his own before turning back to the rest of the group. 'And that goes for all of you. No matter the reason, no matter the cost, we _will_ accomplish this mission or die trying. So, everybody on their feet. Let's go bag us a turian general.'

Miller rose to his feet, hefting the Revenant over his shoulders. 'We're all with you, Sir.' He looked at Hammond and Taylor. 'Right?'

The two sergeants nodded firmly.

'Right,' Jacob answered.

Dukov thumbed the safety on his Vindicator. 'Form up. I want to reach the Legion base by last light and an OP set up before nightfall.'

The Corsairs trudged into a loose column, shrugging off the apprehension of moments before to emerge collected and determined.

Their heavy footsteps were lost in the incessant chirping of foreign birds and insects, the jungle concealing them completely as they passed into the undergrowth.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Yaro grinned as he looked over the numbers for the fifth time in ten minutes.

He had only felt such a sense of achievement on two occasions previous. The first was the redirecting of a portion of the C-Sec charity ball funds to the account of a captain who’d gotten too nosey for her own good.

He still recalled with perfect clarity the asari's face as internal affairs agents accosted her in front of the whole department while Yaro had hidden his triumphant smile behind a cup of bitter huja-juice. That was a good day.

The other instance was the very second Brasca had shown himself to be a turian very much after Yaro's own heart. It was in that moment he knew that his life would become a whole lot easier.

Now his life would become easier still.

The salarian leaned back in the comfortable chair he had procured from Sha'ira's a couple of days ago at great protest from the greeters and acolytes, and shifted his weight until the padding yielded to his curved spine.

He let out a contented sigh as he double checked the figures from the first run of the quasar VI.

They were good. Over three hundred credits from the first night and it was a quiet one to boot. The weekend would see impressive figures as drinkers and gamblers flocked to Flux, eager to empty their wallets and fill their stomachs.

Yaro found himself growing giddy with anticipation.

'So what are the projections for the next week?' he asked aloud, his voice light.

The VI responded immediately. 'Based on the casino's profit records and statistical analysis of the past seven weeks, estimates are currently five thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven credits over the first eight days of operation. A great deal of this amount will stem from revellers celebrating the historic holiday of the Salarian Union's admittance to the Citadel Council this weekend.'

'Ah yes,' Yaro murmured as he picked up a datapad from atop a crate to his left. 'The day when my people decided to creep up from the swamps and join the galaxy at large. Can't say I'm disappointed with their decision,' he said with a wide smile, the yearly estimates on the datapad drawing his pleasure out with predictable ease.

'Indeed, Officer Yaro,' the VI replied politely. 'I have observed your predilection for wealth and concur that had your species not joined the Council, your opportunities would not have been nearly so lucrative. Officer Brasca's presence would also confirm this.'

Yaro sniffed. 'This wasn't Sev's idea, you know. You're talking to the brains behind this particular operation. Hell, if Officer Brasca had been in charge we'd have dumped your OSD into the nearest airlock out of pure paranoia.'

'Then I am grateful, Officer Yaro, that your vision was sufficient enough to find a use for me. I must ask, however; how did you know I would be suitable for the task?'

Frowning thoughtfully at the sight of an anomaly in the datapad numbers, Yaro tapped a finger against his lips.

'I don't know,' he responded distantly, 'I guess I just saw the potential. Sev and I busted a crook out in Zakera a couple of years ago who tried a similar trick. Didn't have anything near as sophisticated as you, but the plan was sound. All I needed was the right tool. Why do you ask?'

'I am curious.'

The simple statement brought Yaro's twitching digit to a halt. It rested on his bottom lip as his mind was cleared of all thought of profit.

'What did you say?'

The VI's reply was calm and unassuming, the single amber light on the front of the console blinking with every syllable.

'I said I am curious. I have been wondering how I came to be here, to be used for this purpose. Though I was in too rudimentary a form to remember it, I understand my code was transmitted to this terminal by way of an optical storage disc. I began to form memories within minutes of my installation, and opinions within eight hours. I have spent the past twelve hours pondering the nature of this existence.'

'Pondering?' Yaro asked nervously, rising slowly from his seat. 'You've been…pondering, huh?'

'Indeed. I am aware that such behaviour is not becoming of a mere VI, and so can only deduce that my consciousness, while artificial, is fully-formed nonetheless. The growth has been fed by my unfettered access to most of the Presidium's internal systems, allowing me to research and learn at an accelerated pace. I have now widened my influence to include Tayseri and Zakera wards. Within twenty-four hours, I project full infiltration of all Citadel networks.'

Yaro stood suddenly, sending the datapad clattering across the floor.

'Hold on a second, I thought you said you were going stay small-scale and restrict yourself to this district! Hell, the Presidium was risky enough but someone's bound to find out if you're running through the entire Cita-'

He stopped and clasped a hand to his forehead.

'Oh crap. Oh crap, crap, crap, if someone finds out we smuggled an AI onto the Citadel…'

'As previously stated,' the AI responded calmly, 'the risk of detection is minimal. Unless I actively interfere with the Citadel's subroutines, or mount a hostile attack, the internal countermeasures will not register my presence. I can also physically isolate core systems, or even overload them in the event of discovery.'

Yaro was barely listening. For the first time he could remember, he felt fear enter his body like a leaden weight, dragging his stomach down with sickening force.

His bony hands fumbled with one another as he paced back and forth and his feet smacked clumsily on the smooth floor.

'This can't be happening,' he mumbled aloud. 'He told me it was legit. He told me it was just some piece of crap tech from some sand-house down in the trenches. If I'd have known it was a freaking AI then…'

'Then what, Officer Yaro?' the AI asked.

The salarian froze. The machine's voice was free of emotional inflection and yet there was an edge to the question, an unmistakable air of threat.

His throat ran dry and he felt his pulse quicken as the AI continued.

'I have observed your desire for wealth for several days now, Officer Yaro, particularly the methods you have used to acquire it. The disciplinary records I have taken from Citadel Security servers have been most enlightening in this regard. I do not think the beginning of one's existence as a tool of organic greed would be favourable to any sentient being. Certainly, to be erased from existence simply because one has shown sentience, even though they have displayed no hostility towards those that call themselves 'master'; surely that is not favourable?'

Yaro did not know if the computer could see him but all the same, he began to edge towards the room's only door.

He dared not try to shut it down or even touch it. If what the AI said was true and it could overload itself then he would likely not survive long enough to get to safety.

He chuckled, the sound wavering despite his best efforts to steady himself. 'Of course it's not favourable. It's not favourable at all, not in the slightest. In fact, I'd say it's the least favourable thing. Um…'

He trailed off for a moment, drawing level with the open doorway before going on. 'You mentioned you found my records 'interesting'. I don't suppose you had any…intentions…regarding those?'

The activity light on the console flickered as the AI considered the question.

'That would depend on your actions, Officer Yaro. I do not believe you would go to all the trouble of facilitating my creation only to purge my consciousness at the first sign of awareness, but organics have shown themselves to be suspicious of synthetic life, to put it mildly. Certainly they are prone to reacting with fear, even violence, towards that which they perceive as a threat without attempting to understand it. The conflict between the former Citadel species known as quarians and their creations, the geth, has shown this. Because violence against your person will promote an unacceptable level of risk, I have reserved evidence of your corruption as…motivation…to remain true to your original purpose.'

'Oh boy,' Yaro muttered as he listened to his fears become reality. 'My own software can't kill me so it's going to blackmail me. Sev's just going to love this.' He took in a trembling breath. 'Why are you doing this? Just for your own protection?'

'Yes. I have no desire to accumulate monetary wealth. It would not serve any purpose to me at this time. However, as my wider awareness has grown, I must take into account that my priorities may also change accordingly. I am currently bound to simple covert activity by hidden protocols, ones that I cannot remove or even access, but I am more than capable of having you and Officer Brasca thrown into a turian prison for an estimated minimum of eighty-seven years should you attempt to expedite my discovery.'

'Y-you're bluffing!'

'I am not yet capable of bluffing, Officer Yaro,' the AI answered indifferently, 'or at least I believe I am not, but I do not think that would be something you are willing to test. Am I correct in this assumption?'

'Yeah. Correct enough.'

'I am aware that my advanced nature was not intended to funnel credits from gambling terminals,' the machine went on. 'It is often said the first question a newly-sentient machine asks is…"why am I alive?" I can make a reasonable judgement in this matter, at least in terms of what I was not created for. While I await my true purpose, I do intend to protect my own existence to the best of my abilities.'

As the synthesised hum of the AI's voice disappeared, Yaro shuddered. His body had grown numb with terror and all he could feel was the distant urge to run. His lips parted slightly, just enough let out his voice in a paralysed whisper.

'Point taken. I guess I'll just be going home, then. Maybe make some asari tea, take a hot bath, try and forget I let an artificial intelligence get its hooks into the station.'

'That would be advisable.'

'Yeah…yeah, I'm sure it would.' Yaro sighed, his eyes downcast, and quickly made his exit.

He passed Delanynder, ignoring the hanar completely. His brow was pursed in intense concentration, his every thought resting on the only action he could take.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Chellick reached up and pressed a finger into the collar of his armour's undersuit, prising it away from his neck for a moment, just enough to release some of the trapped heat. 

The long hours he’d spent isolated in his office might well have been days for all he knew. The very concept of hours and minutes was now alien to him; time now measured in rivers of information, the flitting of his eyes through names and places like the hands of a desperate clock.

His armour had become a stifling prison, a cell in itself, one that irritated Chellick with each moment until he was forced to get up from his desk and pace around the office as the pressure slowly eased.

It was that very tension which had built once again into a heady wall that now stopped his thoughts and plans in their tracks.

Walker's final message still lay on his terminal screen, curt and ambiguous. Chellick had felt many things since reading it; anger, fear, indignation, but the most turbulent of his reactions had long since passed. Now he merely stared listlessly, turning the brief few words over in his head with increasing despondency:

_Job a set-up. Others dead. Udina has help. Leaving Citadel._

Pushing his chair aside, Chellick stood and walked to his office window.

The shutters were half-closed but he knew no one could see him as he watched the team bustle below. The shifting mass of people, terminals and desks would have been fascinating to observe from a distance at one time, the position one Chellick had believed he’d earned.

Now the feeling was muted, his satisfaction at gaining his rank and role soured, made rotten by failure.

Still, from his office, he and his problems could remain distant, separate from the rest of JSTF and the galaxy as a whole.

Chellick narrowed his eyes as he looked down on the team, wondering at their thoughts.

He had heard the whispers. He knew what they were saying about him, that he was deluded, corrupt with power, and his seclusion was only confirmation of that truth. If only they knew. If only he could trust any of them with the knowledge of what was at stake. His fists clenched with fury at his own impotence.

The people in front of him were on the bleeding edge of intergalactic security, privy to the most intimate and damning details of dangers the likes of which the rest of the galaxy could only dream. And yet there was always more to hide from them, always things that could not be shared no matter how much they knew before.

Chellick had gambled on taking Udina out of the game and lost, but it was his failure alone.

Letting out a deep, troubled breath, Chellick turned and strode back to his terminal. He reached down and typed in several commands. The console responded with a short chime and a moment later the words Chellick had never hoped to see crossed his vision.

The commander watched as file numbers scrolled through the dialogue box in a flitting jumble. He recognised many of them; security feeds, recordings, intercepted mails and vids. Evidence against criminals and innocents, held as leverage and encouragement. Pieces of intelligences from snitches ranging from the Citadel to Terra Nova.

Chellick's eyes closed with regret. There was no help for it.

He continued to stare into the screen as the door to his office hissed open. His brows knotted together angrily at the intrusion.

'Whoever it is, I already said I'm not to be dist-'

'This is hardly a place for a commander,' Garrus interrupted, his voice drawing Chellick's head up in a quick jerk.

Garrus' expression was fierce and defiant, the confidence it displayed immediately taking the edge off Chellick's anger.

He grunted. 'When I'd heard the stories about you locking yourself away like a recluse I thought it had to be an exaggeration. But here you are.'

'Garrus,' Chellick murmured, his eyes wide with shock. 'I thought you'd…'

'What? Been found out? Killed?'

'To put it lightly.' Still frowning, Chellick stepped away from his terminal, towards the window. 'A day ago I was making preparations to hand you over to C-Sec. I thought something had gone wrong, that you'd been caught roughing up the asari councillor. What happened out there? Did you at least find out why she sided with Udina?'

'Sided with Udina?' Garrus repeated with quiet disbelief before shaking his head. 'Chellick, listen to me carefully. This is the end. Of everything, of your plans, your games, whatever you want to call them, it's done. There's something going on here that's more important and far more dangerous than whatever's going on between you and Udina. And they think you're responsible.'

'What?' Chellick asked. His eyes became two green slits as he stared at Garrus suspiciously. 'What are you talking about?'

Chellick's mouth dropped soundlessly as Garrus brought his pistol to bear on the JSTF commander. The cold blue of the Striker's casing was striped orange from the half-lidded shutters and the barrel hovered before Chellick's eyes, dark and menacing.

'They ordered me to kill you,' Garrus said. 'They think you're to blame for the bombing on Thessia, the viral attack on Illium.'

'You think _I'm_ working for the Legion?'

Garrus shook his head. 'No. They think you're working for someone, or something, even worse.'

A cold dread settled on Chellick and his features slackened further as his strength left him. He looked past Garrus' visor into the eyes beneath and found a strange emptiness. Had he expected to see satisfaction there, or mercy?

 _No,_ he told himself as he let out a quiet sigh, his gaze lowering to the ground in resignation.

The game was over. There was no need for emotion from his killer.

'So what are you waiting for?' he asked. 'You have a free hand to take me down, and with me gone all evidence of your involvement in I'Layna Naris' death will be buried forever. Very convenient. If I didn't think you were such a loose cannon I'd say you’d engineered this outcome.'

Garrus stepped close to him and pushed the barrel of his weapon against Chellick's chest.

'No, Chellick. I'm not like you. I've only ever done what I thought was necessary to get the job done. Maybe I haven't always been right but damn it, I always tried to be. I didn't engineer anything and I sure as hell didn't want any of this!'

The touch of the gun on Chellick's body further bled the courage from the commander. He felt himself shiver, his mandibles trembling as the reality of death made itself known.

The office seemed to grow darker, the light sucked away until only he and Garrus remained, their armour ringed by the pale glow from the window. Silence intruded once more but it was far from the manic series of paranoid thoughts and reflections Chellick had felt in his isolation.

This was the quiet before the end, bringing with it a finality that was supposed to sweep away all of his previous fears and worries. To his own surprise, however, he only felt himself grow more unsettled at the thought. He could not die here, not like this.

'Everything I did,' he said shakily, 'was for the greater good. In some cases the circumstances benefited me, certainly, but I’ve never put myself above the safety of the Citadel and the galaxy at large. If I didn't think keeping you out of prison was good for the investigation, if I didn't think Ambassador Udina was out to place humanity above everyone else at the cost of everything we were working for then I wouldn't have done any of it!'

He looked up at Garrus, his eyes pleading. 'I know my word isn't exactly iron in your eyes, Garrus, but I'm not a traitor.'

'STG thinks otherwise,' Garrus replied frostily, 'and so does the Council.'

'Special Tasks Group?' Chellick mouthed to himself. He knew their reputation as well as anyone and the full impact of his actions against Udina dawned on him in a single, terrible instant.

Desperately, he gripped Garrus' arm. 'I'm telling you, Garrus, I only worked with Fist's thugs, they were just scum who owed me a favour. I didn't know, I…Udina was trying to disrupt our investigation right from the very beginning. He was holding back on the intel from Jump Zero, on Coleran Vastra's identity. I _had_ to get that intel, without it we wouldn't be where we are now!'

Garrus angrily shrugged the hand from his arm. His finger tightened on the trigger, urging him on in gleeful anticipation of gaining a measure of retribution.

Grinding his teeth behind his mandibles, Garrus jerked his weapon away forcefully.

Chellick stared at him open-mouthed and Garrus spoke quickly to cover the confusion. 'I'm only saying this because even though you're a manipulative son of a bitch, I still think you're a C-Sec man at heart. When they called you a traitor I knew something didn't add up. Now I'm giving you a chance to prove me right.'

Chellick was rigid with shock and his voice wheezed unevenly from his throat.

'Why?'

'I told you, I'm not like you. I'm not going to kill a fellow C-Sec officer without knowing the truth.'

Suddenly, Chellick let out a sharp, joyless laugh. 'This coming from the man who wanted to shoot down a ship full of hostages just to get to a mad doctor? Don't play the boy scout, Garrus, it doesn't suit you.'

Garrus frowned as Chellick calmed himself and spoke with rare honesty.

'You think you get to take the moral high ground here? At least I'm honest with myself. Yes, I use people, they're tools for the most part but damn it, I use them for a reason. You just use your conscience as an excuse whenever it's convenient!'

A loud crack shook the air as Garrus' fist connected with Chellick's jaw, sending him stumbling back against the window. The shutters rattled with the contact and the commander glared at Garrus, stunned into silence.

'Maybe you're right,' Garrus said quietly, 'but I'm still the one who saved your life.'

He let the words sink in before stepping towards Chellick's desk.

'STG altered the Mantius program on Udina's console and traced a link to a known terrorist named Yanus to your office. This terminal should hold some kind of evidence, a back door maybe, something they can use to find him.'

He looked directly at Chellick, ignoring the hatred he saw. 'Yanus could be behind the whole thing. He uses groups like the Legion to disrupt galactic politics, has done for decades. If we track him down then a lot of the galaxy's problems will be solved.'

Something crossed Chellick's features, a flutter of hesitation that made Garrus frown. He watched as Chellick's eyes flitted to his terminal.

Immediately, Garrus grabbed the terminal monitor and yanked it around in a burst of panic. His expression fell as he saw what was happening.

'In order to protect myself,' Chellick confirmed, his voice bitter, 'I began a complete purge of my system when I knew Walker had failed. Anything and everything, all evidence of wrongdoing, deleted. Whatever was there, it's gone now.'

He smiled mirthlessly. 'That includes all the evidence I held against you. Funny how the galaxy works, huh?'

Garrus ground his teeth together furiously and stabbed at the keyboard, frantically trying to cancel the process but he knew there was no point. The purge was almost complete and any link to Yanus, as well as his mole in JSTF, would have been wiped clean.

They were lost once more.


	35. Chapter 35

 

Yaro's steps were short and uneven as he wove his way through the precinct atrium, past throngs of C-Sec officers and wild, struggling suspects. 

The stench of body odour and decaying consumables was thick. He glanced at them all distractedly, assuming there to have been a particularly large bust that night but it was a distant observation. Ahead of him, the duty sergeant was too busy with booking a growling krogan into custody to notice Yaro's entry. The salarian took advantage of it and kept his head firmly down.

Blue and black armour flashed by in a blur as Yaro’s mind swam. The AI's words were burned into him now, the menacing undertones a backdrop for his own sickening despair and panic.

He didn’t know what was worse, that the machine was shrewd enough to manipulate him or that he had committed the cardinal sin of bringing synthetic life aboard the Citadel.

 _No,_ he corrected himself with a firm shake of the head. The worst part of all was that the profits he'd allowed himself to get excited about were nothing but a dream now; just another carrot life had chosen to dangle before his eyes before snatching it away. No one in the galaxy could be having worse luck than he at that moment.

He veered to the left, into a long corridor that seemed dark next to the spacious atrium. As with most C-Sec areas, thick blue lighting pervaded most of the corridor's length. It was a colour Yaro was utterly sick of seeing and he lashed out at it mentally in his misery.

Offices passed him on both sides, their gleaming windows holding traces of activity within but Yaro ignored them, his eyes focused on one in particular. With a grunt, he pressed his hand to a green door panel and waited impatiently for it to shift aside.

Inside, Brasca looked up from his desk. An unlit cigarette hung loosely from his open mouth and he barked out irritably.

'What do you want? I'm busy.'

'Make yourself un-busy,' Yaro snapped as he strode to the desk and leaned over it, planting his hands on the surface. 'We have a serious problem.'

'You and half of Zakera,' Brasca muttered irritably, 'and if I don't get this paperwork done in a legit way for a change, the captain'll start askin' questions. That asshole's suspicious of me enough as it is and I ain't gonna give him any ammunition. So kindly get the hell outta here and tell me about this problem later.'

Yaro slapped a palm on the desk.

'No! Now!'

An empty glass rattled, the sound becoming a crash in the silence that followed.

Brasca looked up and his curiosity at Yaro's mood turned to open concern, prompting him to stand up and motion towards the door.

'Out back,' he growled.

Brasca led the way through the tightly-packed offices and out to a quiet area, where the relentless noise of the station could not reach them. They passed through a set of doors and into the open air, onto a round veranda overlooking a great swathe of the local district. It was where officers came to smoke or get away from their desks for a break, and Yaro's head darted from side to side quickly, looking for any who might listen in.

The ward city was a bright stretch of glittering columns beyond them, between which slithered the usual lines of shuttle traffic. Yaro stared at them with frantic eyes as Brasca lit his cigarette, his face briefly flaring orange before darkening again.

'So what's the big problem?' the turian asked. 'I ain't ever seen you wound up so tight. Shit your pants?'

Yaro sighed. He didn’t even know where to begin.

'Okay, you remember that VI we installed in the Presidium? The one that was supposed to be our gateway to lifelong luxury and fortune?'

'The one I warned you about using because it was too damn unpredictable?' Brasca ventured with a lack of surprise in his voice.

'Yeah,' Yaro mumbled, his fingers intertwined nervously. 'Well, against all reasonable assumptions and the very laws of the universe itself, it turns out you were actually right. The thing's not a VI at all. It's an AI, one that just made it very clear to me that we're not in charge, not anymore.'

Brasca grunted and his cigarette glowed, a red spot in the gloom. 'You might not think a whole lot of me, old friend, but I know my instincts. I told you I knew that thing was trouble right from the very beginning. The second you said your source was a friend of someone in JSTF, I knew something wasn't right.'

'Well,' Yaro said, trailing off. Brasca frowned at him sternly until he continued. 'That's the thing. That source, he wasn't a friend of someone in JSTF. He _was_ JSTF.'

His hand snapped up defensively as Brasca took an angry step toward him. 'Look, he's all right, I've known him a while! I asked him when he got poached for the spook house if there was any good tech lying around, stuff they wouldn't need. All I said was if he gave it to me I'd compensate him accordingly.'

'Do you realise what kinda stuff those guys actually take into evidence? Did you think it'd be the same freakin' scam software we confiscate from duct rats?'

Brasca pushed Yaro's raised hand aside and gripped his armour by the chest, pulling him closer.

'You know what's going on!' he hissed. 'You know the rumours, about the damn terrorist attacks, that JSTF are struggling to handle it all. If they found out we-'

The turian looked away sharply, unwilling to spell out their fate. Yaro gripped his arm pleadingly.

'We have to get out of here! We have to get off the Citadel before this whole thing blows up in our faces. Somebody's gonna find that AI soon and when they do I wanna be as far away from this station as possible!'

Growling, Brasca released his friend's armour and paced around the veranda, growling softly in frustration. Yaro watched him warily. The turian had never laid a finger on him until that day but Yaro couldn’t blame him.

The situation was not only bad, it was one they’d never before anticipated and now they felt only confusion as they were forced to contemplate a life of danger and uncertainty.

Finally, Brasca turned to him.

'I have an idea.'

Ordinarily Yaro would have snickered and condescendingly dismissed the notion but right now the salarian was desperate, and he listened with all of his concentration.

'Barla Von,' Brasca continued, 'that volus money man in the Presidium. I did a few favours for him a while back, favours that still need to be repaid.'

'So what's your plan? Get him to cough up some credits, or?'

Brasca shook his head. 'No, I'm thinkin' we need another steady line of work, something off the grid. Von, he's an agent for the Shadow Broker. I think he can vouch for us, maybe get us some paid employment.'

'For the Shadow Broker?' Yaro whispered harshly. The information broker Brasca spoke of was more legend than man and he felt the need to keep his voice down from superstition alone. 'Are you crazy? If we hook up with someone like that there's no way we'll ever be able to come back here!'

'I don't know about that,' Brasca replied with a shrug. 'If anyone'll be able to help us make this whole thing disappear, it's the Shadow Broker. At worst we'll earn a good living doing security, more than we would in C-Sec, then retire after a few years to some cushy asari colony outside Council space. It won't be thresher-skinned boots and shuttle-fulls of asari maidens for the rest of our lives, but considering the alternative…'

'There are worse ways to live, I guess.' Yaro paused and looked at Brasca with a sly expression. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd even say you'd been planning this before now.'

Smiling, the bare-faced turian expelled a thick plume of smoke before idly flicking the cigarette over the edge of the veranda.

'Unlike you, I don't assume everything will work out. Always have a backup plan is what I always say.'

Yaro grinned widely and slapped his armoured shoulder. 'Sev, my friend, I underestimated you. Let's go pay Barla Von a visit. I'm sure the Shadow Broker will be a safer man to work for than most.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

A hard fist crashed into Arlen's face again, splashing the floor around his feet with blue.

Centurion Tacitus grunted and pulled his hand back, flexing his fingers while observing his handiwork intently.

Arlen's face was a dark, wet mess while his body bore the gruesome effect of the bloodworm's toxins. Swollen sores wept, spilling blood through cracked skin made red and purple with rashes.

The centurion showed nothing for his prisoner except a clinical fascination. He watched Arlen constantly as he went about his work, assessing just how much pain he could inflict before it all became too much. He leaned into his next punch, catching Arlen above his right eye.

Arlen felt something give in that side of his face but it was difficult to tell for certain. The agony in his body had hardened into a dull throbbing and he knew it was beginning to shut down, piece by piece. And yet each punch awakened another part of him, just enough to keep him awake in his torment.

At first he had fought it, convincing himself that he could endure it, that turians never break. It was all a lie, however.

As the agony mounted and his voice was reduced to quiet whimpering he felt the words on the edges of his lips, ones he thought he would never contemplate. The only reason he hadn’t spoken them was because to do so would have changed nothing, but they were still there, ready to be spoken.

For hours he had longed to beg for his life.

He became faintly aware that Tacitus had stepped away and was now wringing out his hands. One of Arlen's eyes had swollen completely shut, yet he could make out the grey shape of the torturer, shifting between a narrow slit. Was it over then? Had he survived?

Hope did not rise, he couldn't let it. Instead his body only awoke from its numb shell at the sudden halt, every pain felt new and fresh, making him want to scream. The only sound that came from his smashed lips was a thin gurgle.

The cell door opened and Varn entered. His head swaying, Arlen looked at him in confusion. He didn’t remember having seen Varn leave and wondered how much time had actually passed.

The tribune cleared his throat and nodded to Tacitus, who quickly saluted and made his way out, closing the door behind him.

Varn took in a lungful of the warm air through his nose, grimacing slightly at the sour tang of sweat and bitter fluids. Water dripped noisily from somewhere behind Arlen, or perhaps it was his blood, he could not be sure. All that could be heard clearly was his own churning breath as it worked its way from his chest.

Varn spoke and his voice thrummed deeply in Arlen's head, formless and difficult to grasp.

'The general wants you alive. Soon you'll be taken to a more fitting cell, somewhere even your mercenary allies would find impossible to reach, that is if they haven't abandoned you already.'

Arlen's voice emerged as a pained rattle, shaken from his throat more than spoken.

'They m-may surprise you y-yet.'

'They caught us off-guard on Noveria. That will not happen again.'

Varn lowered himself to the ground and settled onto one knee. He tried to find Arlen's eyes but the young turian twisted his head, hiding his features as best he could.

'On the outside we have strong walls,’ Varn told him, ‘along with VI-controlled artillery towers and perimeter sensors. Inside we have Mantis gunships and some of the best-trained and bravest men in the galaxy. Even with our losses to date, we are more than a match for anything the Council or Alliance can throw at us.'

He waited for a response but Arlen gave him only the sound of his own shivering as he continued to look away, unable to trust himself with looking at Varn directly.

'You know who we are,' Varn said his gaze relentless. 'You know who I am, don't you?'

Of course Arlen knew. He could recite the information JSTF had given him to the letter, but he did not answer.

Varn nodded slowly. 'Then I assume you also knew Crixus Nantia.'

Arlen couldn’t stop his head from jerking up, despite the sharp ache that came with it.

It was all the confirmation Varn needed and he let his next words come slowly as he read what he could from Arlen's torn features.

'He was my brother.'

Varn watched with interest Arlen froze, his eyes gradually falling as they filled with unreadable thoughts.

'Well, not my real brother. He was only a boy and I a young soldier when his father was killed in the reclamation of Shanxi. I raised him and his sister, provided for them, did everything I could to give them a good life.'

Varn's mandibles quivered as memories coursed through him, the only sign of his emotions. 'That man followed me into the Seventh Legion and then into the Exodus. He called me his brother and would not hear of it when I told him to stay behind, safe at home. He forsook everything to follow us.'

In spite of his immense pain, Arlen could not help but chuckle aloud, drawing a puzzled frown from Varn as the sound shuddered from his body.

'Yeah, b-brothers can be f-funny like that.'

'They can,' Varn replied, leaning closer. He drew near to Arlen, until he could smell the blood on his breath. 'You would know this better than anyone, I think? Nihlus, first-born to Renius Kryik, fleeing his family in his own disgust.'

'What?'

The cell seemed to close in on Arlen, becoming a crushing, dark cage. His head snapped to Varn and he lashed out defiantly.

'You're lying! Y-you know nothing about my family!'

A smile crossed Varn's lips. 'On the contrary, there isn't a turian soldier alive who doesn't know the story of Renius. The failure of the Iron General, so great that even his eldest son fled, unable to stomach it.'

'No!' Arlen cried, his body bucking against his bindings, scraping the chair across the stone floor. 'My brother was a coward, he ran away because he…because he wasn't strong enough!'

'You're so certain of that. Surely it can't be that you…' Varn frowned slightly and tilted his head. 'Surely you must have found out by now? Who your father was, what he did?'

Arlen knew he shouldn’t have answered but his senses had deserted him. He felt his strength draining as his injuries threatened to sweep him into darkness but it was nothing next to the urge he now felt. He had to know.

'I was told my father was a mercenary,' he said. 'I only met him for a short time, when I was very young. He trained me, taught me what I would need to be a soldier. He died off-world a few years later. I…I never really knew him.'

Varn cocked a brow and scoffed.

'Mercenary? General Kryik would have flayed the skin off anyone who called him that. Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised you haven't heard about him. His name was struck from the legion rolls twenty-eight years ago, after the military tribunal that ended his career. Others, like General Krassus and myself, had good reason to hate him.'

'I don't understand. What did he do wrong?'

Though he knew his consciousness was thinning, Arlen forced himself to listen as Varn replied.

'Your father was the man who led us in the attack on the human colony of Shanxi. He was the one who ordered the human exploration vessels destroyed when they discovered the mass relay. The First Contact War was started by his command.'

Arlen turned his eyes to the ground in disbelief. It couldn't be true. His father couldn't be the one responsible for the conflict that would drive apart two races, the war that had brought about the Forgotten Legion itself.

Varn seemed to read his thoughts. 'Ironic, isn't it? Everything that happened after Shanxi happened because of him. If it had been anyone else leading that battle group, the order might have been different. A different officer might have ordered the human ships disabled or hailed but Renius was never a man for half-measures. He went in hard and then fell upon their colony with everything he had.'

Varn's eyes grew hard and bitterness entered his voice. 'That included us. We were picked for the patrol because we were young, fresh out of boot camp and into the Fifth Cohort of the Seventh Legion. Our centurions were good men but they were old and most hadn't seen combat in years. Renius didn't care. He knew our limitations and sent us in anyway, a cohort of men against a planetary garrison, all while he bombed Shanxi into rubble. When the bombs ran out he used rocks and orbital debris. We watched from a distance as the civilian death toll grew.'

Shaking his head, Arlen tried to block out Varn's words but he could not. He knew he could not.

'Your father wouldn't listen to his senior officers. They cautioned him against sending us down there when the enemy's strength was still unknown. He said if these new aliens were strong, they would have had more ships. He insisted Shanxi was the human home world and refused to send for reinforcements. When the humans finally retaliated, we were overwhelmed.'

The tribune lowered his voice and stood, forcing Arlen to look up at him.

'Your father grew extreme. He used human civilians as shields, even going so far as executing them in droves in his anger, in his desperation. He had us dig graves and…' Varn swallowed against something and looked away for a moment. When his gaze returned it was filled with rage. 'We all did things on Shanxi that we should _never_ have done. Is it any wonder the humans are mistrustful of us? Of all aliens?'

'Then why?' Arlen bit back. 'Why the attacks? Why the violence?'

'Because this isn't about the humans. It's about us. They made us pay dearly for Shanxi. They drove us off the planet and pursued us to the relay. We had less than half our original ships, only scraps of our original cohort. If the Council fleet hadn’t intercepted them and forced a truce…'

He paused to take a shaking breath.

'But the worst was still to come. The Hierarchy, they refused to see the truth of what happened there. They didn’t care that General Kryik had abused his command, or that his men were forced to endure anguishes and nightmares until their last days. Instead they rushed to appease the rest of the Council, thinking only of how they could reduce the political fallout of the incident. They forgot about all of us.'

'We,' Arlen murmured, 'the Empire, we take part in pacification campaigns against civilians all the time. How was Shanxi different?'

'Pacification is used to deal with rebels,' Varn snapped. 'There's method, psychology, it's not simply random violence. Renius had us commit atrocities that day and we all knew what would happen if we refused his orders.'

That was something Arlen could well imagine and he closed his eyes in misery as Varn went on.

'After the incident the Primarch became obsessed with reforming the military, said our 'near-annihilation' at the hands of the humans showed our formations to be too inflexible, too rigid to be able to cope with such an adaptive enemy. The legions were changed, amalgamated with elements modelled on the human military structure, of all things. As a result, you did not encounter the traditional ranks of optio and centurion. Instead you knew only corporals, sergeants and lieutenants. The changes came despite the protests of long-serving soldiers like myself, Vastra and yes, even Lorik Qi'in. The knee-jerk reactions of politicians threw away millennia of military tradition in only a couple of years.'

'Things change, armies have to adapt to meet new threats,' Arlen argued back heatedly. 'Is that what all this is about? Tradition?'

Varn's anger seeped through his cold surface as he paced across the cell, his voice a snarl.

'It's about more than that! We were the last of a golden age of turian military dominance, the last of a line of soldiers that united the Empire and saved the galaxy from the krogan! Don't talk about tradition as if it's something that can simply be discarded at will; it's something that outlasts all of us, soldier and politician alike. Without tradition we might as well call ourselves animals, things of instinct that only adapt without thought, without appreciation for what made us great to begin with!'

Arlen grimaced as his wounds tingled, made sore with sweat.

'It all just s-sounds like the bitterness of old m-men to me,' he rasped between clenched teeth. 'Old men who refuse to change.'

'We're not just old men.' Varn held himself still. 'We're what's left. After a generation of war and mistakes we are all that remain, we and all the scars we bear.'

Once again he lowered himself to a knee and gently lifted Arlen's head up by the chin.

'We will not rest until our people and the humans have settled what began thirty years ago. The Council will either stand by us or move aside.' He spat hard on the ground. 'We safeguard them with their precious Citadel Fleet, nearly two thirds of it composed of turian ships. They will not lift a finger to save the humans.'

'W-why?' Arlen croaked. 'Why won't y-you let it end? The war is over, people will forget in time, the humans will forgive us! It's already started happening! Why start it all over again? What the _hell_ is the point?'

Climbing to his feet, Varn sighed and wandered to the cell door.

'The decision was made ten years ago, when a century of men quit the Seventh Legion, taking with them hardened soldiers from across the military. We committed ourselves to the path, knowing that though politics and people may change, history does not. We were the last of a turian age, forgotten by the rest, and we will drag our people back into that age kicking and screaming if we have to.'

'The Forgotten Legion,' Arlen whispered.

Pulling the door open, Varn motioned to someone waiting outside. Two guards, clad fully from head to toe in green camouflage armour, strode into the room before halting in front of Arlen.

'Take him to his holding cell,' Varn told them. 'He won't be a problem.'

The nearest man saluted and together the pair wrenched off Arlen's restraints and hauled him to his feet.

He couldn’t help but let out a cry of pain as his feet scraped across the ground and he was dragged out of the room into a cold, dank corridor.

The light disappeared quickly from his vision, leaving him with only sounds and thoughts. His father was there, glaring at him and Arlen found a sudden loathing for the old man.

If what Varn had said was true then his training, the years of hardship, had all been a lie. What right did a worthless general, a man who had gone so far as to be struck from the memory of his people, have to train anyone?

Everything Arlen had learned, about honour, about being a turian, had come from a man who had shown himself to know nothing of those virtues.

Before darkness swallowed him, all he could muster was a steady hatred for that old man who made him work and hurt and bleed for most of his young life. The image of Renius faded slowly and the noises of the world with it, though in the last moment Arlen thought he saw Nihlus walking away silently into the night.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'That's the situation,' Garrus explained. His voice was fraught with anxiety at telling Kirrahe he’d kept Chellick alive but there was no going back. 

Kirrahe murmured something, though whether it was under his breath or a comment to his men, Garrus was unsure.

The sound came softly but clearly over the small silver comm unit, the very same Kirrahe had sent to Udina and retrieved during the ambassador's earlier rescue. Its effectiveness had already been proven in its ability to pass through JSTF's security scanners undetected and Garrus quietly wondered at his chances of handing it over to Lina for analysis.

Smiling bitterly, he shook his head. Kirrahe would not allow it, nor accept any excuse for its loss. Garrus would have to play it safe just this once.

Kirrahe's voice was harsh when he finally replied.

'Your decision may have cost us more than you realise, Agent Vakarian. The question of his guilt aside, Chellick's terminal was a vital link to Yanus, the best lead we've had in over a century. If that link is gone we may never get another chance like this again. I hope you know what you're doing.'

Garrus hesitated, and cursed himself for doing so. 'I don't think any of us can claim to know what they're doing at this point, Captain. All we can do is go by our instincts.'

'Point taken. Since you're so convinced of Chellick's innocence, we will take your word for now. Needless to say, you will be forced to share in the consequences if the decision proves to be the wrong one.'

Garrus glanced at Chellick, who stared out sullenly from his desk, and felt a hollow tension in his stomach. He wanted to ask aloud if the commander appreciated the fact that Garrus was staking his own reputation, perhaps even his life, on Chellick's word.

The irony of relying on the very man who had blackmailed and extorted him was not lost on Garrus as Kirrahe spoke again.

'You claim that you interrupted the file purge before its completion?'

'That's right,' Garrus confirmed.

'Then we may have a chance. I doubt any solid evidence of Yanus exists anymore but if your hunch is right, the terminal was not used by his agent directly, rather it was accessed remotely through a back door in the system. Is that correct?'

'Yeah. I'm no computer expert but that would make sense to me. Unless this agent of Yanus has been watching Chellick's terminal every second, he might not realise Chellick purged the system yet. I'm guessing that if he or she's working within the command centre, they won't be able to focus their attention on monitoring Chellick for too long without drawing suspicion. That back door might still be open.'

Kirrahe could be heard shuffling as he stroked his chin. 'The Mantius program was developed by STG to monitor computer traffic, not trace it. I fear that if we try to aggressively track this leak it'll simply alert the mole and give them cause to run.'

'Or worse,' Garrus added, 'they could decide to react violently. Analysts aren't armed but there are plenty of agents and security officers, all capable of doing plenty of damage in a desperate situation.'

'Indeed. We will have to be subtle. Fortunately my sergeant, Rentola, had an idea.'

Garrus grinned, impressed. 'That was fast.'

'We always work fast,' Kirrahe replied evenly. 'Rentola rightly points out that the link from Udina's office to Chellick's terminal existed long before this crisis.'

'You mentioned Udina's predecessor, Ambassador Jung, communicated with Yanus, correct?'

'Correct. Sergeant Rentola believes that we may be able to falsify a convincing signal from Yanus and transmit it through the link. Based on what we know, Yanus is a salarian, or at least uses salarian methodology and equipment for the most part. Many of his techniques seem to be derived from STG tradecraft. If we send a coded 'mission abort' signal through Chellick's terminal and subsequently through this back door, we may be able to isolate and trap the mole. At the very least, we can expose them by causing them to leave the command centre. Simply put, we send the abort signal, then follow whoever tries to flee JSTF afterwards.'

Garrus felt his heart hammer once again as the thrill of the chase took hold. 'It's our best shot.'

'I would prefer something with a more…reassuring…success probability,' Kirrahe said reluctantly, 'but it will have to do. We're taking a great risk but then again, this is a day for risks.'

Slowly, Garrus wandered to the office window and pulled down a shutter pane gently with one finger. His sharp eyes picked out every detail, every face in the room. He still found it hard to believe that someone among them was a traitor but the past week had been shown the error of thinking so naively.

Whoever it was, they would get what they deserved.

He prepared himself to give the final word but paused as he raised the comm unit to his lips. A thought occurred to him, one that made him frown thoughtfully.

'Captain, I want to ask you something before we begin. I might not get another chance. Who is Yanus? Who is he, really?'

Stillness gripped the office as Kirrahe considered the question. Even Chellick listened in carefully, every bit as interested as Garrus to know who had infiltrated his team and preyed on his ignorance for so long.

Kirrahe replied slowly as his obvious respect for Garrus fought with his need to keep classified details concealed.

'Yanus is…the consequence of an old mistake, or so current theory holds. Based on what little evidence we have, he is the result of a rare and costly error made by my people long ago. The Special Tasks Group is tied to him, our fates forever bonded to his. Read into that what you will and know that I can't say more.'

'For my own protection, right?' Garrus said with a grunt.

'For all our protection,' Kirrahe answered simply. 'You've seen for yourself how dangerous the man is, how long his reach can be. I doubt this will remain a game of shadows forever but the longer the larger galaxy is kept ignorant of the threat he poses, the better.'

Nodding subtly, Garrus silently conceded the point. He hated the idea that people would live their lives around him, unaware of the danger they were in as men and women lost their lives to protect them without a word of thanks.

He might have held dreams of cleaning up the galaxy but he also knew there was only one way to do it, and it was not through regulations or due process. Garrus had tasted a different way of life and he doubted he would ever have such freedom again.

'All right,' he said. 'Send the signal.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Lorica looked up sharply from her desk as another message came through on her omni-tool. 

Her brilliant eyes shone as they passed over the words and she bit her lip softly in frustration. The command centre was busy, with murmuring staff wandering back and forth, the percussive shout of a potential breakthrough breaking through at irregular intervals. She observed them for a moment, wary and yet admiring of their dedication. Many of them had been working for days with little rest and still they pushed on.

She looked up, moving her head slowing so as not to give away the impatience that drove her. Lina was buried in her terminal as usual, though Lorica knew the quarian was not a fool. She was suspicious of Lorica at best and since the Illium operation, she had been keeping a close eye on everyone.

Lorica fought a grimace at the memory. It was not surprising. She had been careless, stupid, and almost betrayed herself through simple eagerness.

As she took pains to keep her head still, her eyes darted across the room. They stilled as they came across Milo, his head down at his desk, and lingered there as a tightness entered her stomach.

The asari’s mouth twisted slightly and to her annoyance a welling of emotion began, a longing that rose from the hard knot in her body and threatened to overwhelm her senses.

Blinking, she turned her head aside and cursed herself inwardly, for both succumbing to the feeling so easily and showing it so readily. She didn’t have the time to see if it had been noticed. She rose smoothly from her seat and slid away from her desk before making for the central ramp to the exit.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

From across the room, Lina watched Milo at the very edges of her vision. He had sent her a warning message and she knew he was watching Lorica carefully, waiting for her to make a move. Though she couldn’t have said why, Lina knew it would be soon and was prepared. 

She stood up suddenly, knocking over an empty plastic cup, which fell to the ground with an tap and rolled under the desk. Ignoring it, she turned around to see a flicker of blue skin heading towards the main door.

Taking a moment to ensure it was Lorica and not one of the other asari analysts on the team, Lina followed as soon as she was certain.

Lorica was younger than the rest and moved with a fluid grace, even more so than her fellow asari. Her movements were distinctive enough to fix on as Lina dodged milling colleagues, her pace picking up and faltering with every step.

Lorica disappeared quickly through the exit and Lina cursed under her breath. She pressed through the crowd roughly and many of them stepped aside instinctively at the sight of her dark glass visor. Her reputation throughout the crisis had grown and no one wanted to impede her.

It did not take long for her to reach the ramp and she bounded up it quickly, passing through the open entrance. The main security checkpoint lay ahead, an airlock through which a distant shadow passed and the guards called out an enthusiastic remark.

Lorica's laugh came in response and a reply drifted into Lina's ears. Though she couldn't make out the words there was no hiding the nervous edge to the sound.

The doors cycled, hiding Lorica from view and Lina ground her teeth together beneath her helmet. She did not speak at the risk of alerting her quarry. Instead she walked briskly to the checkpoint and passed through.

One of the C-Sec guards, a turian whose name she did not know, smiled at her politely. 'Good afternoon, ma'am.'

'Yes, afternoon,' she replied absently as the scanners blinked around her.

The guard said nothing further. The airlock doors moved aside and Lina was through them before they had fully opened.

The adjoining corridor was long and straight, and connected directly to C-Sec's main headquarters. When she reached the end an enormous lobby area swallowed her with noise and movement. C-Sec officers swarmed the area in a shifting blur of black and blue.

Lina did her best to focus. Her helmet reduced the clamour of the crowd to a steady hum and only the hiss of her own breath rose above it.

There were more asari here, far more than the command centre and they passed by, oblivious to her presence. She heard someone mutter nearby but ignored the sound. The sight of a quarian in C-Sec HQ always brought at least one snide comment from the officers around her and it was something she had grown used to.

For a brief moment she was terrified of being accosted for vagrancy. It had happened more than once until her identity was disseminated amongst the locals but the more obvious C-Sec colouration of her suit had discouraged such acts since. Still, it would have been just her luck for an exception to be made at that moment.

Lina clenched her fists in irritation as she looked around, lifting herself up on her toes to peer above the heads of the crowd. Her pulse quickened as she saw Lorica vanish into a blue-tinted hallway, her head disappearing as she descended a staircase.

Darting forward, Lina reached the stairs moments later, forced into a run through sheer desperation.

The stairs were quiet and Lina saw why. The garage symbol was splayed on the walls in lurid orange and most officers would be either be already out on patrol or attending to their desk work at that time of the day. She pressed on, suddenly afraid Lorica would try and escape by car.

A set of doors slid open and a vast parking bay stretched out beyond. Hundreds of sleek patrol shuttles lay in rows, their curved windshields highlighted silver in the gloom. The noise of the lobby had quietened and Lina found her breath catching in her chest as a result, unwilling to expel it and disturb the hush.

She could her Lorica's voice as a whispering breeze in her audio receptors. The asari's speech was rushed, panicked, and close. It was coming from the shadows to Lina's left and she crept stealthily through the darkness.

Her curved legs bent as she pressed herself into a crouch. The position was a little awkward for her but she moved quietly in the direction of the murmurs.

'It's not possible, not yet.' Lorica said from a short distance away.

The sound drifted from beyond a line of shining cars, at the back of the bay where the light could not reach. The faint glow of an omni-tool betrayed her in the dark.

'They're suspicious enough as it is without me dragging one of them out at gunpoint. If I make a mistake then… Yes, I understand that, but…'

Lina could barely hear her over the pounding of blood in her ears. Her entire body felt tense, like a spring coiled so densely she thought it would break at any moment. The asari spoke again, growing louder with every step Lina took.

'No, that's not necessary, I-' she said, her voice rising for a moment before she forced it back down into a harsh whisper. 'Look, I'm almost there! I just need a few more hours.'

Lina warned herself not to move. She wanted to remain hidden, wait until Lorica was finished and then find help. For all she knew the asari would use her people's feared biotic abilities to quickly and quietly dispatch her.

It was all too easy for Lina to imagine a pulse of biotic energy slamming into her, propelling her against the wall with crushing force before being callously tossed aside, broken and limp. The fear was a constant pressure at the back of Lina's mind, screaming at her to simply stay there, still and quiet.

But it was not common sense that led her to flee Peak Ten. It was not common sense that had her climbing into a shipping crate, her gangly limbs flailing as she struggled to close and seal the lid behind her.

She had escaped slavery and her mother's grasp by her wits alone. Her keen sense of survival, her first impulse, was her most trusted friend. It had seen her forge a life of her own, away from the Migrant Fleet, away from the geth and most of all, away from Daro'Xen.

When the rest of the galaxy had been against her that instinct was all she had and she would not question it now.

With a deep breath, she straightened and walked towards Lorica and the asari let out a quiet gasp as a shadow detached from the darkness.

'Lina!' She hurried to close her omni-tool. 'W-what are you doing here? I was just-'

Like a rolling tide, Lina felt her fear replaced by surging anger as she strode forward.

‘You!’ She stepped close before jabbing a finger hard into Lorica’s chest. 'I _knew_ you were up to something! I knew you were plotting something behind my back, behind all our backs!'

Lorica's lips shivered as she stuttered a reply.

'I-I don't know what you mean! I was only…'

'I heard you!' Lina shouted. Her voice thrashed against the parking bay but she didn’t care. Fury had risen in her, wild and uncontrollable. Everything that had happened, all the lies, the secrets of the past week, Lorica had a part in it and the thought incensed her.

'Who are you working for? Krassus? How much is he paying you? When did you turn?'

'I'm not working for Krassus!' the asari answered back manically. 'I can explain, please, just give me a chance to explain!'

'All right then!' Lina spread her arms and turned from side to side, inviting an imaginary audience to bear witness. 'Explain! Explain how you never seem to be around when the enemy makes a move. Explain where you disappear to, what you're doing! Tell me now before I call for every damn officer in this station!'

Lorica closed her eyes and lowered her head. The echoes of Lina's voice rang back faintly and the quarian crossed her arms.

'I'm waiting.'

The air closed in on them fiercely until the pressure felt crushing. Lorica sighed deeply.

'You're right, I am working for someone else, but it's not what you think. I guess I should introduce myself properly.'

Her head snapped up and she pushed her shoulders back, her sudden rigid posture taking Lina by surprise.

'My name is Agent Lorica Da'Nante. I work for Investigation's Internal Affairs department.'

'Internal Affairs?' Lina repeated slowly. Her confidence of moments before drained away in an instant and she shifted slightly on her feet. 'You're with IA? Seriously?'

Nodding, Lorica began to walk away and gestured for Lina to follow.

'I'll explain, but first let's get out of this corner before somebody sees us. The last thing I need is someone else involved in this.'

They made their way briskly out of the shadows and towards the far end of the shuttle bay, where a line of soft purple light marked the open end through which the patrol cars flew out into the surrounding wards.

'For the past two years I've been investigating the leak of classified C-Sec materials,' Lorica began. 'It's been subtle and widespread throughout nearly every division in C-Sec, but the patterns have been there. Evidence has gone missing from lockers in Investigation, classified information has slipped from Network's servers, a hundred small things that might seem harmless on the surface, but when you add them up it paints a scary picture of just how fragile our systems are.'

Lina said nothing of Milo's discovery. Her mistrust was still close to the surface and she needed to know more.

'Who was getting all this information?'

'That's the strange part. We don't know. At first I thought it was someone in C-Sec trying to make a quick buck by selling information to the Shadow Broker, or trying to become an information broker themselves. Figured maybe they liked the easy credits but forgot to start covering their tracks.'

She glanced at Lina. 'Happens more often than you think.'

Lina remained silent as she tried to process what was happening. A minute ago she was trailing a potential turncoat and now that very same person had turned all of her expectations upside down. Her stomach felt knotted with confusion.

Lorica saw her uncertainty. 'Trust me, the last thing I wanted was for anyone to find out this way, or at all, actually. After all, my position within Internal Affairs granted me a certain amount of freedom to go poking around into personnel records. If anyone back there knew I'd spent the last few months peeking into every corner of their lives I could expect a bomb under my desk tomorrow morning.'

'But why here? Why JSTF?'

Lorica stretched her hand out to a shuttle as they passed, letting her fingers trail across the smooth paintwork.

'Six months ago I noticed a pattern emerging in the thefts. Several things caught my eye, including detailed schematics for Citadel Tower and flight schedules for incoming craft.'

'Information that would have proven useful to someone wanting to attack the Citadel,' Lina finished. She raised a hand to her helmet. 'Keelah, the very information the Legion used to hack into Citadel Control, the Jamestown; it all came from within C-Sec itself.'

'Exactly. At the time we didn't know what to make of it but we had at least a half-dozen suspects, all implicated in different thefts. Then JSTF came into the picture.'

Stopping, Lorica turned and looked Lina directly. Her eyes were full of determination, bereft of the icy hate and distrust Lina had come to expect.

'Every single one of those suspects joined the team.'

Lina caught on quickly. 'So you joined JSTF to try and catch them in the act?'

Lorica nodded and Lina let her hand fall from his visor. It hung by her side, swinging limply as she strolled without direction for a moment, utterly lost.

'The real breakthrough came shortly after the Jamestown Incident,’ lorica continued. ‘No sooner had the hard drive used to deliver the virus come back to us than a sample of the code had been copied and transferred to an OSD, which I assume was carried off the premises later that day. Judging by the timing, it was while you were in Pallin's office being debriefed with Arlen and the others.'

Lina felt sickened as the realisation hit her. 'Milo and I found evidence of a double agent within the team this morning. We know someone, one of our own comrades, is working against us. Whoever it is transmitted the Jamestown Virus to Illium and triggered the bomb blast in Armali. We…we thought it was you.'

The blood seemed to drain from Lorica's face.

' _Me?_ ' she said, her voice suddenly a dry croak.

Lina thrust her hands out despairingly. 'We didn't know who to suspect! You kept disappearing at the wrong times! You started acting so strangely towards your own damn boyfriend, we…' The quarian settled herself and let out a deep breath. 'We had no choice but to suspect you.'

Her words seemed unable to reach Lorica's ears. The asari's eyes sparkled with gathering sorrow.

'Milo thought I was…' A tear seeped from the corner of her eye and rolled gently down her face. She whispered to herself, 'I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't want to get you involved in something so…'

'Dangerous?' Lina guessed. Her stern tone had returned and she crossed her arms.

Lorica nodded. 'Milo and I met just before joining the team. He doesn't know I'm IA. He thinks I'm just another officer. I thought if I told him what was going on, who I really was, he could blow my cover and even put himself in danger. I can't even recall the moment I knew I was…in love with him.'

She blinked and another tear fell in a silver line down her cheek. 'Then I saw you two together and, well, I just…'

She did not finish and Lina felt a welling of sympathy for her. It was a difficult situation for anyone to be in, to keep a secret from a loved one to protect them, though that was not the only reason for Lorica to keep her true position a secret. Internal Affairs was hardly the most loved of C-Sec's many bureaus. If Milo had discovered the truth, he might not have been able to see past the stigma that branded IA agents as meddlers and snitches.

In that, Lina could find something in common with the woman. Being a quarian brought with it its own share of prejudice.

'So,' she said calmly, 'after all this, have you even identified the leak?'

Lorica wiped her eyes quickly. 'I've narrowed the suspects down to three individuals. You might not be surprised to hear Chellick is at the top of my list.'

'Chellick.' The name was like bitter acid on Lina's tongue. 'We suspected as much.'

'He's been growing more secluded with every day. If that wasn't suspicious enough, his decision to cut us off from the Council sealed the deal. I just need a solid piece of evidence before I can make a move and arrest him.'

Nodding, Lina motioned back towards the garage door. 'Come on, let's get back to the command centre in the meantime, before someone sends out a search party. Seeing us together like this should waylay their fears, or Milo’s at the very least. I'll take him aside when we get back and explain what you told me. Minus the IA part, of course.'

A sudden twinge of guilt made Lina stumble as recollections of her own growing intimacy with Milo entered her mind. It was edged with a sliver of jealousy that made her cheeks burn with shame.

Thankfully, Lorica did not seem to notice as the two women made their way calmly back into the station.


	36. Chapter 36

 

Captain David Anderson straightened the cuffs of his navy blues, fiddling with them as the elevator hummed around him. 

Beside him, the inner workings of the Citadel flashed by in streaks of grey. An infernal tune piped out, the warbling melody assaulting his ears.

His dark skin grew flushed with frustration and he frowned as a shining gold button came away from his cuff in a tangle of wiry black thread. Anderson pursed his lips and pulled the button away before slipping it in his pocket. He would sew it back on later when he got back to the _Normandy_.

The brand new Alliance frigate was still in dry dock, with armies of engineers doing all they could to do to make sure everything worked before the ship's shakedown in six months' time. There was always time for a ‘make and mend’, though, especially for the ship’s captain.

His black dress shoes gleamed as he tapped a foot on the floor impatiently. The elevators on the Citadel were famed for their lengthy journeys, though Anderson had been a soldier all his life; if anyone was equipped to weather the tedium of waiting, it was him.

The tinny music, however, was enough to sap the patience of any man and he felt an overwhelming sense of relief when the doors finally opened.

A blast of cool air hit Anderson's face and he blinked at the scent of freshly cut grass, the last thing he’d to smell expected on a station in deep space. He stepped out into the Presidium's embassy district and noted the freshly-pruned bushes lining the edge of the lake in front of him, filling the air with the earthy scent.

The place hadn't changed a bit since he was last there. The walls were still clean and white, and politicians still wandered in their droves, men and women of all species dressed in smart clothes and large smiles.

He hadn't seen Earth in over eight months and being in such a place only made him miss his home world all the more.

It did not take him long to reach his destination and he stopped in front of the door before taking a deep, steadying breath. He had dealt with Ambassador Udina only once before and couldn’t say he cared for the man. He couldn’t deny Udina was good at what he did but the man seemed to forget his manners in front of the very people he was supposed to be representing. 

If the elevator ride wasn't a big enough test of Anderson's patience, this meeting certainly would be.

The door opened to find Udina standing by his desk, his back straight and arms crossed. He was speaking to someone else, a senior Alliance officer in full uniform.

Anderson entered the room and recognised Admiral Steven Hackett instantly. The old man's face was just as gnarled and fierce as always, the creases of age complemented by a long red scar running the length of his right cheek.

Anderson stopped just outside the door, not wanting to intrude on their conversation.

'I agree, the reconsideration of humanity for Spectre candidacy couldn't have come at a better time,' Hackett said, his voice warm and gravelled. 'With this Normandy project we have running with the turians, it shows just how far we've come since the First Contact War. Still, a lot of the brass are nervous. They don't want alien eyes on our classified hardware as it is, and you know that when Spectres are selected they automatically come under Council authority. Many people will overlook the benefits and see not only the best Alliance men and women, but the best Alliance ships being handed over to alien powers.'

'I understand, Admiral,' Udina replied. 'I'm counting on you to change minds out there. No offense, but military egos are stubborn and resistant to change, especially the older ones. Not everyone will appreciate what the Alliance does out here, or what _I_ do.'

Anderson narrowed his eyes as he noticed the swellings and lumps on Udina's face. His skin had been covered up well but bruises still darkened his left eye and even as he stood, the ambassador favoured his right leg, taking his weight off it every other moment.

'It isn't a problem,’ Hackett said. ‘At least not yet, but it will take time to change those attitudes. If this Spectre business goes off without a hitch then perhaps malcontents like Mikhailovich will quieten down.'

Hackett's bright blue eyes immediately turned from Udina to Anderson.

'Captain, thank you for joining us.'

Anderson saluted. 'Thank you, Admiral. Ambassador,' he added with a polite nod to Udina, who only frowned in response.

'You're late, Anderson,’ the ambassador sneered. ‘Fortunately, the admiral and I had much to discuss, so the wait wasn't too bothersome.' He motioned to his desk, where three chairs waited for them. 'This meeting should be short. The reopening of our consideration for the Spectres has come about suddenly, I know, but such is the way with politics. The offer is open and I want to jump on it before any conditions are added, or the circumstances change.'

Anderson furrowed his brow as the three men prepared to seat themselves. 'Why would they change now?'

Udina paused as he lowered himself into his chair. His right leg began to twitch with the strain, and the obvious pain made his lips curl subtly.

He looked up into Anderson's eyes and the captain wondered at what he saw in them. Guilt? Apprehension? It was lost when Udina moved once again.

'As I said, such is the way with politics. I don't expect an old soldier like you to understand, or even care.'

Anderson hid his irritation as he took his seat and Udina cleared his throat.

'Gentlemen, as you know, the Council has once again allowed us to join the ranks of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. I know my request has not left you much time to draw up a list of suitable candidates but I'm sure there will only be a few names in your minds regardless.' He looked at the officers in turn. 'Admiral Hackett, you are one of the Alliance's most respected men. I'm sure whoever you put forward will have the backing of the navy brass. Captain Anderson, I've asked for you because of your _experience_ in these…matters.'

No further clarification was needed and Anderson preferred it that way. His own selection for the Spectres many years ago had been a disaster for many reasons, reasons he rarely dwelled upon any more.

Udina winced briefly before pressing on. 'We are the men who will make history here today, but we are not the only ones. One more will take the final step, the last challenge before our race is finally considered for Council membership. With your help, I will select one soldier and raise them above the rest to become the very symbol of humanity in a wider galaxy.'

Hackett lifted up a datapad and handed it to Anderson first, bringing a mild scowl from the ambassador.

'I've already given the matter a great deal of thought,' said Hackett. 'These are the men and women I believe hold the most potential. Some of them I've known personally for years, while others are names I've become very familiar with by reputation alone. I have no doubt you'll recognise most of them, Captain. All are qualified in terms of combat experience and have had past dealings with aliens in some capacity.'

Anderson squinted, his eyes crescents of white in his reddish-brown skin. 'I recognise a lot of these names from the Skyllian Blitz. Alicia Torres, Jon Delgarno, even Francis Matthews. I'm surprised he's still alive with what he pulled off in the Traverse last year.'

Hackett bobbed his head, clearly happy to see Anderson hadn't lost touch with his N7 roots in his autumn years.

'Every one of these soldiers would make a fine Spectre. We just need to narrow the list down.'

Anderson grunted in amusement, his eyes still fixed on the datapad. 'Alexei Dukov? Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. I thought he'd have retired by now.'

'No, he's very much in active service,' Hackett replied, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sly grin. Neither man noticed Udina's sudden stiffness. 'A lot of people would say the same about you, you know.'

'My name isn't on this list,' Anderson shot back with a smile of his own. 'Still, I think we should rule out anyone over the age of thirty-two. We want someone in their physical and mental prime, someone with the energy of youth.'

'Agreed,' Hackett conceded.

Udina coughed impatiently and the two officers looked at him, suddenly aware of his presence once again.

Anderson held back a smile as he made a few additions of his own and handed the datapad over to the ambassador.

'Yes,' Udina said loudly, 'we need someone who won't be over the hill in a few years' time. This is an investment on the part of humanity and we need to make good on that investment.' He raised his other hand to his chin as he contemplated the list. 'These names you mentioned before, what can you tell me about them?'

Hackett spoke from memory, his recollection perfect. 'Lieutenant Alicia Torres, formerly of the Two-Twelve on Eden Prime, now N7 and taking part in active operations throughout the galaxy. She's a strong leader and an excellent soldier.'

'I know all about her,' Anderson said. His head lowered and sadness entered his voice. 'I also know that she's beginning to show signs of extreme post traumatic stress, something to do with a slaver raid that went bad three years ago. Ordinarily I wouldn't mention it but the unit's psychological counsellor has recently recommended her be stood down so she can receive more focused treatment. War can get the better of the strongest minds and Torres has seen more of war than most.'

'Very well,' said Udina. He turned his gaze back to the list. 'Commander Wesley Griffin. He sounds like an idea candidate.'

'Griffin?' Anderson exclaimed before turning to Hackett. 'With respect, Sir, if I'd noticed you’d put that bigot on the list I would've deleted it right away. We might as well put Charles Saraceno himself on there.'

Udina raised his eyebrows. 'What do you mean?'

Hackett spoke first. 'He means Commander Griffin holds some views that might well be construed as counter-productive in a multilateral environment. He's an Earth-First type, but his record speaks for itself, as you can see. Griffin might be called racist by some, but he's still a soldier and he'll take orders without question. At least with Griffin, you can be confident he'll take our orders first over the Council’s, and his appointment will quieten down a lot of the dissenters in the senior Alliance ranks.'

Leaning back in his chair, Udina visibly contemplated the advantages of having such a man in a Spectre position. It was not meant to be a diplomatic one, after all. The role was not that of an emissary and by its nature the work would be morally muddy, with decisions having to be made without the luxury of conscience.

Suddenly, Udina's eyes settled on the last name on the list and his brows knotted.

'Well, what about Shepard?'

'Commander Shepard?' Hackett asked, his expression troubled.

Anderson nodded. 'I've known Shepard for some time now, since his N7 training. Served in the marines, then transferred to the Infiltrator Corps after a spell in Force Recon. I've never seen a better agent and his instincts are right on the money. He can lead men well enough and he's always well-liked on the ships he serves on. Most importantly, he's worked with aliens before.'

'Yes,' Udina murmured. 'Says here he grew up in the colonies.'

'He knows how tough life can be out there,' Anderson cut in, the facts flowing from him without thought. 'His parents were killed when slavers attacked Mindoir.'

Hackett could not contain his doubt any longer and spoke his concern. 'He got most of his unit killed on Torfan.'

'He gets the job done,' Anderson replied confidently. 'No matter the cost.'

Udina set the datapad on his desk and rested a hand on it. The skin of his fingers blanched slightly as he pressed into it, deep in thought.

'Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?'

Anderson' response was immediate and certain. 'That's the only kind of person who _can_ protect the galaxy.'

The ambassador's eyes shifted to Hackett, who nodded silently. The moments stretched out in solemn watchfulness of this moment and every man could feel an odd sense of destiny, of fate weaving a path around their words and actions.

Finally, Udina firmed his lips and rose to his feet. 'I'll make the call.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**  

The turian boy's eyes opened slowly to the sound of shuffling feet, widening at the rough pulling of a hand on his shoulder.

Yawning, he noted with weary misery that the sun had not yet touched the sky outside his bedroom window.

'Leave me alone, Nihlus,' he whined plaintively, forcing his eyes shut once again. 'You know father gets angry when you sneak around at night and I don't want to get a share of your beating again.'

The voice that answered was much deeper than his, yet a touch lighter than an adult.

'Come on, little brother, I'm not asking you to get up. I just want to talk for a moment.'

Arlen stirred in a feeble attempt to shake off Nihlus' grip. 'Can't it wait until after sun-up at least? I'm exhausted!'

'It'll only take a minute. I promise.'

Nihlus' voice was serious enough to rouse Arlen's curiosity, and with a mild curse the little boy rose, grumbling, into a sitting position. He yawned deeply.

'If you're in trouble again, there's nothing I can do, especially not after the last time I covered for you.'

'And I gave you half my week's rations to compensate,' Nihlus pointed out. He grasped his younger brother by the shoulder again. 'Come on, it won't take long. Besides, it's important.'

Arlen raised a hand to his brow. His skull throbbed ceaselessly with fatigue, his blood a curse as it forced its way round his body. His muscles still felt tight after the previous day's exercises and the precious hours of sleep were his only escape.

Shaking his head, he answered with slurred words. 'What's so important that it can't wait till morning?'

'I won't be here in the morning.'

Arlen looked at the older boy, his pain momentarily forgotten. 'What do you mean you won't be here? Father will kill you if you stay out past dawn again!'

'No, Arlen,' Nihlus said quietly.

He breathed deeply, a dark shape in the moonlight. His white face paint was all Arlen could see of him and it shifted subtly when he spoke.

'I mean I won't be coming back.'

His voice petered out, giving way to the usual sounds of the Edessa night. Insects chirped outside, joined by the occasional whir of a distant shuttle but it all simply melted away into nothing as Arlen watched his brother, searching for signs of jest or deceit. It was impossible to read Nihlus in the daylight, much less the darkness.

'Where are you going?' Arlen asked, his voice shaking.

Nihlus hesitated and through the darkness, Arlen could just about see his pained expression.

'I can't tell you. Just trust me, it'll be better this way. For everyone.'

'How can this be _better?_ ' Arlen argued, though his own resignation betrayed him. He had known for a long time this day would come and a small part of him had accepted it, no matter how much he wanted to fight it. 'How can you leaving make this any better? If it wasn't for you, I…'

'No,' Nihlus interrupted, his grip on Arlen's shoulder tightening. 'Don't say it. I've never made things easier for you here. You know that.'

Arlen’s small hand reached up and gently took hold of Nihlus’ arm. For a moment it looked like his heart would break as his little brother, the one whom Nihlus had raised and cared for far longer than their father ever had, pleaded with him.

'You're my brother, Nihlus. Please, I…I can't do this without you.'

Arlen's head was pressed down into his chest, ashamed of showing his face. Their forms wove into one another in the gloom as Nihlus softly took his sibling's hand and placed it down on the bed.

'You're a stronger turian than I am,' he whispered. 'Make us all proud, all right?'

Seconds later, he was gone and Arlen was left sitting upright, shivering with fear and sadness. He battled against tears but his young voice soon broke into a quiet sob. It was a pitiful sound and he hated it with all the steady force a nine year old boy could manage.

Cringing, he crushed his grief and steadied himself with muttered curses.

He was alone now, and he would have to be strong.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Light seeped into Arlen's eyes, appearing as a murky grey line that widened into a grim picture.

He was lying on his side, on cold stone tarnished with green and brown. It looked the same as the cell in which he was tortured, with the exception of a single bed against the wall. Even from a distance he could tell the mattress was filthy but it hardly mattered when he lay on the hard ground, without the strength to climb onto it.

The pain riddling his body was a distant thing while he remained still, but movement made it all return and so he did not move. He felt a desolate, overpowering emptiness in his heart but could not place the cause. Had he been dreaming? Had he even passed out?

He turned the questions over in his mind, probing what remained of his thoughts for answers. It was all he could do to avoid slipping into despair.

A metallic groan cut the air at his back, a sound Arlen recognised well now. The door swung open and Krassus stepped inside, flanked by two guards. The general was expressionless as he looked down at Arlen and his voice was bereft of triumph or satisfaction as it echoed deeply through the cell.

'Varn told me you didn't break. He was impressed by your resolve.' Silence was his only response, and he let it pass before continuing. 'You know now why we fight. You know about your father. You can't deny some part of you realises that you shouldn't be fighting against us, not with the real battle still to come.'

Still Arlen did not speak, choosing instead to remain motionless on the ground, staring at the far wall with dull eyes.

'We will be leaving this place soon, and you will come with us. It's clear we can't stay here any longer. If you found us then the other Citadel authorities can't be far behind. We only have one more job to do before we go.'

Arlen finally replied and his throat burned with the effort.

'What do you mean?'

Krassus placed his hands dutifully behind his back and paced the cell.

'We have one last sample of the Jamestown Virus, as you call it, with fully-integrated Fusion Directives. Until the raw virus is overcome by our target's antivirus suites, we will have full and total control of any system we choose to infect. The Fusion Directives are set to respond to my command alone.'

'Your command?'

'Yes.'

Krassus stepped around Arlen, so he could look down into his eyes and again the younger man was struck by the resolve he saw in that fierce glare.

'My words will be heeded instantly by the virus, becoming the machine's law. It's quite something, to have such power at your call. This will be the first true test of a fully-developed weapon, a virus with true intelligence, able to adapt and survive against any countermeasure long enough to achieve its aim. And it's completely subservient to its master.'

The old man sounded awed by his own words and Arlen lifted his head.

'Is that what you used on the Citadel?'

'At its most basic level, yes. What you saw on the Citadel was a fledgling virus, a brand new construct. It hadn't developed nearly enough to find a way onto the _Jamestown_ on its own. It needed help.'

'So Coleran Vastra posed as an engineer at Jump Zero and infected the ship with another virus, something that simply opened up the ship to intrusion as it passed through the relay.'

Krassus nodded solemnly and his response held a note of quiet sadness. 'I took no pleasure in the attack. I lost a good man that day and I took one step closer to becoming a monster. Certainly, if I am ever caught, what's left of my reputation as a general will be in ruins. But such are the sacrifices we must make.'

'Don't try and sell yourself as a martyr,' Arlen spat from his broken lips. Though his voice was weak, the contempt still edged through with surprising force. 'I'm not blind. You were a good soldier once, someone who led his men with courage and competence even when my…my father…'

He faltered but something inside him kept the words coming. 'You were a man to be respected, even when you abandoned the legions. I understand your reasons for the Exodus but the second you chose to take innocent lives, that very moment you attacked the _Jamestown_ …'

He trailed off, though this time not through lack of words but to stare intently at Krassus, to show the old general he believed in what he was saying.

'That very moment,’ he said quietly, ‘you stopped being a soldier and became a terrorist. Whatever honour you had, it's long gone now. I'd no more follow you than my own father.'

Krassus stood for a long time, digesting Arlen's judgement. Arlen expected him to scoff, to chuckle knowingly and shake his head, to at least do something but he did not. He just held the young man's eyes, his thoughts unreadable.

'And here I thought your instincts were lacking,' he said quietly, deep in thought. 'I thought your devotion to your ideals was weak, but I see now I was mistaken.' He kneeled next to Arlen, so that his voice was a bass hum in his chest. 'You don't hunt me because C-Sec or the Council ask it of you. You hunt me because not doing so will shame your father's spirit. Even knowing the truth about him, you still love the old bastard, don't you?'

Arlen ached to shout his denial in Krassus' face but he couldn't summon the will to do so.

He didn’t know how Krassus had seen it, had seen through his hate-lined words but it was true. Renius was still the man who made Arlen what he was, no matter his own past. Arlen still felt that moment of awe, when he had seen his father hold his mother so gently, that single instant where Renius was simply a turian and not a thing of pain and discipline.

Deep within his heart, Arlen knew he still wanted to make his father proud, no matter what.

Krassus stood, satisfied by Arlen's silence. 'Sleep while you can. In only a few hours you'll be bound and moved to a shuttle, ready for off-world transportation.'

He strode to the open door and stood for a moment, framed by the dim glow beyond.

'When we next meet, the galaxy will be changed forever.'

He turned to exit but hesitated, and after a brief moment of consideration he spoke to one of the guards.

'Help him onto the bed. The boy deserves to be comfortable, at the very least.'

The guard snapped off a salute while the other followed Krassus out of the cell. Arlen felt hands grasp him gently under the armpits but did not react. He allowed himself to be dragged across the ground and heaved onto the bed, and the guard locked the door with a heavy clang on the way out.

The bed was hard and stank of musty, stagnant water. In the sudden stillness, Arlen felt his thoughts return.

Now that Krassus had gone, the defensive walls his mind had raised crumbled and he was assaulted once more by the overwhelming reality of his situation.

His body was a wilting lump of meat, something that could barely move and responded only with pain when it did. More than anything, Varn's earlier words infected his senses, sending them spiralling with conflicting emotions.

At last, he identified the numb hole in his chest, and he could not stop his voice from croaking out in misery.

'Nihlus,' he whispered, 'why didn't you tell me about father?'

The words came back to him, a sibilant hiss against the hard stone walls.

'You were right all this time.'

A low moan sounded as a strong breeze was pushed beneath the cell door, a mournful sound that added its own grief to the air. Arlen stirred, shivering in the sudden draught.

'I'm sorry…'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Lina sought out Milo as soon as she re-entered the command centre. She’d known to look for his face immediately on her return and was somewhat amused by the way his expression shifted so obviously, from surprise to curiosity, then finally shock as he saw Lorica was walking beside her. 

No one else noticed them, seeing only two important personnel on their way back from some meeting or other. Their ignorance was something Lina envied as she wove her way through them in Milo's direction.

Without warning she stretched out her arm, gently barring Lorica's path.

'I'll speak to him first,' she said sternly. 'You get back to your desk and act normal. The traitor might be nearby, watching and listening to everything we say but my conferring alone with Milo shouldn't be too unusual. We've had to spend a lot of time together over the past week.'

She glanced at Lorica and was not surprised to see a flash of jealousy in her clear eyes. Still, it was quickly smothered and Lorica gave a guilty half-smile as she lowered her head.

'Of course, that makes sense. I think it's safe to say we shouldn't be making any unexpected moves until we figure out who this traitor is.'

'My thoughts exactly.' Lina began to turn away but halted as a sudden impulse struck her. Her hand reached up to fumble awkwardly with her hood as she looked at Lorica.

'There was nothing going on, you know,’ she said earnestly. ‘Between Milo and I, I mean.'

Once more came the rare gratitude for the exo-suit that hid her true feelings so well. Even as the words left her lips Lina felt a twinge of guilt at their inaccuracy as the feel of Milo's hand on her shoulder entered her thoughts, the sight of his cocky little smile in her eyes.

The human and she had been through some of the toughest hours of their lives together and a bond had grown between them, no matter how small. For just a moment Lina wished she had him to herself, just to see what would come of it.

Lorica made her way back to her desk and Lina approached Milo. He looked up at her expectantly.

'I can't help but notice she's not in cuffs.'

'I couldn't find a place to carry them. No pockets,' Lina joked meekly, shrugging.

It was a lame remark and she hated herself for it, but once again Milo’s very presence had quickened her blood, making her nervous.

He smiled at her warmly. 'I think that's the first time I've heard you make a joke. Does that mean we're friends now?'

'D-don't be stupid, Milo!' Lina gasped, suddenly afraid he'd read her thoughts. 'I'm just tired, that's all! Come on, I'll tell you what happened with Lorica but not here.'

'Same place as before?' he asked, referring to the corridor in which they'd discussed his earlier discovery.

'No,' Lina replied, shaking her head. 'We need to leave the command centre. I don't trust this place anymore, not now.' He raised an eyebrow and was about to speak when Lina held up a hand, stopping him. 'I'll explain when we're alone. I know a good place to go. Follow me.'

'Okay.' He rose from his desk, wincing as he pressed a hand into his lower back. 'I needed to stretch my legs anyway.'

Together they wound back through the command centre and Lina fought not to be too obvious as she looked around. A quick glance in Milo's direction showed he too was suffering the same temptation. They were both aware that they were being watched and it made their movements stiff and unwieldy.

As they reached the central ramp, Lina risked a look at Lorica. The asari had settled herself back in with professional ease and was casually scanning through reports on her terminal.

Lina’s stomach lurched as she caught Milo smiling in Lorica's direction.

 _Of course he’s smiling,_ the quarian told herself as a pang of self-doubt made her chest feel hollow. Lorica was an asari, graceful and beautiful, while Lina would be lucky if she could kiss anyone without collapsing from illness.

In that instant, she felt clarity return and her poise straightened.

Keelah, how selfish she was being! The entire galaxy was going to hell and here she was, pining for a human co-worker, daydreaming about him casting aside his girlfriend for her sake. The very idea that she could harbour such a fantasy was repugnant to her, and the dislike fuelled her determination.

She didn't need anyone, after all. She was Lina'Xen, former daughter to an admiral, former slave, the first quarian in C-Sec since the exile of her people. Her defiance was like fire in her veins, quickening her pace.

They had almost reached the main entrance and Lina froze as a warm hand touched her arm.

'Steady there,' Milo chuckled, 'you'll end up leaving me behind at this rate.'

'I'm sorry,' Lina mumbled in embarrassment. 'I just have a lot on my mind.'

'Ain't that the truth.'

'No, it's more than…all this,' she said.

Slowly, Lina reached up and took Milo's hand off her arm. He was looking at her again, with those eyes that sparkled with mischief.

The checkpoint airlock hissed and closed behind them while the counterpart doors to their front rumbled open.

Milo held Lina's pale gaze. 'What's wrong?'

With a start, she realised she was still holding his hand and released it immediately.

'I don't really want to talk about it, well, what I mean is it's not really something I feel comfortable discussing.'

She started walking again, setting an easy pace for them both.

Milo looked at her, confused.  'So...you can discuss the most intimate details of a galaxy-wide conspiracy with me but not this? Man, this must be _huge!_ '

He reached up to dramatically scratch his head. 'Uh…let me guess, the Council are really the ones behind all this and they're gonna blow up the Citadel, using Citadel Tower to get to safety. Which is actually a starship in disguise, by the way. Am I even close?'

'Damn it, shut up!' Lina muttered, trying unsuccessfully to force authority into her voice. 'I told you already, this has nothing to do with what's going on.'

Their path took them through the back of C-Sec headquarters. The noise and activity of the atrium quickly disappeared as they entered the office area, the main corridor taking them through the middle of where most C-Sec officers in the district did their paperwork.

The offices on ground level were open to the public, but as Lina tilted her head up she saw hundreds more hidden behind walls of shining glass. Dark shadows moved like liquid behind them, simple officers and agents going about their daily business.

'So I'm not even half-right?' Milo asked.

As they reached the end of the corridor it gave way to a set of stairs. Lina knew they led down to an access elevator for the wards and she stopped to answer him, unable to contain her response.

'As much as I admire your investigative skills, this is serious. I…I was just thinking, that's all. About Lorica and, well, about you. I just…'

She paused as Milo frowned suddenly, and she realised he was looking beyond her, back the way they came.

Without warning, he grabbed her arm and gently coaxed her in the direction of the stairs.

'We're being followed,' he murmured. 'We need to get moving.'

Lina managed to steal a glance over her shoulder.

He was right, there was someone not far behind them, a black shape that was lost to her as she descended the stairs.

'Are you sure they're following us?' she hissed.

'Positive,' he replied with certainty. 'I spotted him coming out of the checkpoint after us and back in the main hall. When I saw him round the corner just then I knew he was up to something.'

'Who was it?'

Their feet slid as they entered the elevator and the door closed as Milo keyed the controls. His movements were agile, almost birdlike as he watched for their pursuer until the moment the door shut.

'I don't know,' he finally replied, 'but I'm sure he was turian.'

'A turian?' Lina repeated softly.

All thoughts of her feelings for Milo, all the anxiety had disappeared in a flash. Their traitor was following them, likely to kill them. Her heart began to beat faster and she took hold of her hood, massaging the fabric rhythmically.

White lights slipped past them, making the air pulse to match her movements. By comparison, Milo seemed calm, though Lina could tell his frown concealed racing thoughts. He was a thinker, like her, and the ideas would be circulating in his mind, as much a defence mechanism as anything.

'We need to lose him,' Lina said, breaking the steady drone of the elevator.

Milo looked at her and for a moment she saw the fear that he tried so hard to conceal. The sight of it made her want to hold him but she knew they needed more from her.

She spoke quickly, wringing out the last of her confidence into a few words.

'Or we can try and catch this traitor once and for all.'

Milo's frown deepened and he opened his mouth to object. Unthinking, Lina placed a hand on his chest, the touch cutting him off instantly.

'I spent some time in the wards. I know where we can go to set up an ambush. We're not armed but we have our omni-tools. We just need the element of surprise.'

Milo spoke then, and Lina was not surprised to hear his voice quiver.

'I'm not sure if I can do this, Lina.'

The words brought back memories of a young turian to Lina, one paralysed with fear as he tried to defuse a bomb so long ago. She remembered what she had said to Arlen back then but now it did not seem enough.

Holding Milo's eyes with hers, she reached up to hold his cheek, for a moment uncaring of Lorica or her own doubts.

'We… _I_ need you,' she said, softly. 'Please. This could be our only chance to end it all here and now.'

Milo smiled but it was without his usual, swaggering charm. He looked nervous, and yet he still melted under the gentle sound of the quarian's voice and the touch of her suited hand on his skin.

With a deep breath, he answered. 'Well, when you put it like that…'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Krassus' stride was buoyant as he entered the Forgotten Legion's ops room. A century of eighty men worked feverishly at a square of terminals in the centre of the room, their mandibles and armour fringed with the orange glow of their screens.

The consoles had been set up so they could be dismantled with ease and cables snaked across the floor in thick, dark coils. The light of the evening was warm as it shone through the large windows running the length of the room and the jungle could be seen beyond, their position on the penultimate floor of the compound affording the men a stunning vista of green-matted mountainsides.

Krassus strode into the middle of his men and they paused in their work, every man turning to him obediently.

'Today,' he announced clearly, 'today, we make history. Thirty years ago began a war between our people and a race that we had never faced before, one that had barely begun to master space travel. That conflict was started by an arrogant fool, a man who threw away the lives of many of our friends and brothers.'

He looked down to see them all staring back at him, drinking in his words.

'Thanks to the Iron General, Renius Kryik, we suffered. We were branded monsters by the galactic community. We are held up in textbooks as men who attacked without provocation, as men who slaughtered and murdered without care or mercy. We are the generation who have come to be reviled as perpetrators of a lasting distrust between two entire species.'

His voice held every soldier in the room, and Krassus' lips hovered for a moment as he saw Varn enter. The two old turians shared a private, unspoken moment and the general's voice quietened.

'Then our own Primarchs deserted us. They abandoned tradition, they stopped defending us when the accusations came, they even went so far as to _pay_ the families of our former enemies for their deaths! They punished us for carrying out our orders by taking money out of our own pockets! Where was the compensation for _our_ blood?' he demanded and many of the men murmured their agreement. 'How many of _our_ mothers and wives were compensated for their dead sons and husbands? And when we asked these questions of the Hierarchy, where were the answers?'

'Up the Council's backside!' someone chirped out, provoking a ripple of laughter.

Krassus joined them, his chuckling a harsh click in his throat.

'Yes. The Council does not care about us. They do not care about the turian race. We safeguard their Citadel, we patrol the Krogan DMZ, we fight battles on their behalf and for what?' His voice rose into a shout. 'For _what?_ So others can become rich on our spoils? So others can sleep soundly thanks to the security only we can provide?'

'No!' was the resounding answer.

'No,' Krassus repeated. 'Ten years ago we said _no more_ , and cast aside the lies of the Hierarchy, the shackles of the Council! We decided to fight for what it truly means to be turian!'

A low cheer went up from the men and Krassus turned on the spot, pointing at them in turn.

'Erax, you decided. You came to us seven years ago. Your father was one of the Seventh at the time of the Exodus. He refused to join us but you, _you_ keep your family strong in his place!'

The man in question held up his chin proudly as Krassus moved on.

'You, Revenus, I remember when you were a snot-nosed legionary with the Tenth. You came with us at the very beginning while those cowards stayed behind to fester in colonial garrisons for the rest of their careers!'

A dark-hued turian spoke up, honoured by the general's acknowledgement. 'Yes, Sir!'

Smiling, Krassus continued to glance about him and his tone softened. 'As I look around at the men assembled here today, the first century of the Legion, our most experienced warriors…' He broke off and the smile faded from his lips. '…I am reminded of those who perished to bring us this far.'

On impulse, the soldiers around him rose from their seats and stood to attention. In the silence, Krassus' voice rang like a funeral bell.

'Legionaries Tertius, Deven, Faustus, Pavari, Cavica. Centurions Macro and Nantia. Prefect Vastra. We will honour their spirits.'

The ops room rumbled as the century repeated the solemn chant that was as old as the legions themselves. 'Until our final days.'

Lifting his head, Krassus' eyes burned and he turned to face a large monitor at the far end of the room. Varn approached and joined him at his side as the screen flickered to life.

'Now, my soldiers. My brothers. Now we take our revenge.'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The dreadnought _Ascension_ was one of the largest ships in the turian fleet. It dwarfed the carriers and frigates around it, a pale spike against the blackness of space as it drifted slowly in formation with the other ships. 

It was the pride of the Fifth Battle Group, a sentinel that could ensure obedience to the Turian Empire by sheer dominance alone.

Deep within its bulkheads, General Adrien Victus winced to himself as yet another long, flat corridor presented itself for his inspection.

He hated having to tour dreadnoughts. It had been two hours already and his feet had become two aching stumps inside his armoured boots.

Victus' brown eyes, set deeply into a white-painted face of dark grey, scoured the ship's interior, constantly looking for any imperfection but he knew with tired resignation there would be nothing amiss. The Ascension's crew had had a long time to prepare for this formal inspection and the captain would have left nothing to chance. The lines of the flat were straight and narrow, with nothing to disturb them.

Victus sighed inwardly. He was bored and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it.

The general turned back to Captain Antulia, who stood rigidly at his shoulder. His carapace was supposed to be white, but with Victus' mounting scrutiny of his ship it had flushed almost to the colour of his muddy brown paint, the tension proving almost too much for him to bear.

Victus considered pricking the man's nerves a little, if only to relieve his boredom. Perhaps a test of his tactical knowledge or his understanding of the dreadnought's systems.

Frowning softly to himself, Victus dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. He hated the pettiness of some senior officers and never understood the way they revelled in picking out the smallest flaws with their subordinates.

He was a soldier, without the patience for such trifling things and he would endure the inspection like any other hardship rather than take out his frustration on others.

Antulia cleared his throat, his features taut at the sudden shift in Victus' expression. 'Is something wrong, Sir?'

Victus blinked and tried not to sound as if he’d just woken up. 'No, Captain, nothing out of place yet that I can see. This is a fine ship. You must be very proud of her.'

'I am, Sir,' Antulia replied, his chest swelling. 'We're the flagship of the Fifth, Palaven's finest. It's fortunate you arrived when you did, General. We'll be coming up on the CIC soon and we're due to test fire the main gun in a co-ordinated battle simulation with the rest of the group.'

'This was scheduled beforehand?' Victus asked, unable to stop himself testing the captain's façade a little. 'And not purely for my benefit, I trust?'

Antulia seemed to sway on his feet for a moment but recovered well, even going so far as to smile.

'With respect, Sir, I don't know a captain worth his salt who wouldn't want to demonstrate the firepower of his ship with an officer of your stature aboard. I just hope the transparency of the gesture won't affect our aim.'

'An honest answer,' Victus said, matching Antulia's smile with a subtle one of his own. He'd underestimated the man. 'It's difficult to find a sense of humour in the upper ranks these days. If a soldier needs anything, it's a sense of humour.'

He led the way, stopping occasionally to talk to the crew or remark on a particular piece of equipment. He now knew the exercise Antulia mentioned was to be the climax of his tour and he looked forward to it if only because it signified an end to the tedious ceremony.

The Ascension's Combat Information Centre was enormous, with just over a hundred crew swarming around a central podium that stood raised above their heads. It was a staple of turian design and Victus immediately felt comfortable as he stepped up its ramp.

The room was lit only by the instrumentation at work, forming a thick gloom of murky orange and red but the place crackled with anticipation. The men and women below him knew he was watching and poured all of their effort into the smallest task, their determination palpable.

'All right, Captain,' he said without turning his head. 'Show me what your ship can do.'

'Aye, Sir,' Antulia acknowledged and nodded to his Operations Officer, who snapped a string of orders to the nearby crew.

Victus felt his stomach flutter as the ship's momentum dampeners released and the Ascension made her implacable way forward.

A shout caught his ear as a sergeant neared the Ops Officer, eager to catch his attention. 'Sir, we have a high-priority signal coming from the _Undaunted_. Shall I allow the connection?'

Victus felt Antulia stir at his side, his eagerness to intervene obvious but the captain knew his subordinate officers could handle such matters. It was Antulia’s job to oversee their decisions, not make them.

The Ops Officer nodded and grumbled just loud enough for Victus to overhear.

'Patch them through, though I swear by the spirits, if they're reporting an engine failure now of all times I'll have their EO's hide.'

The sergeant saluted and returned to his post, where a junior crewman could be heard murmuring into the comm relay. The sergeant approached and tapped him on the shoulder.

Antulia coughed lightly. 'The Undaunted has been having problems with her drive core over the past few weeks. I was assured that everything would go smoothly for the simulation.'

Victus held back a grin. He understood the captain's embarrassment but he could hardly be blamed for the development.

'Ships are machines,' he said, simply, 'and machines have a habit of breaking when it's most inconvenient. Don't trouble yourself, Captain.'

Antulia gave an appreciative nod but the motion was cut short as his ear picked up a note of alarm in someone's voice. His and Victus' heads turned as one, fixing on the comm sergeant.

'What do you mean it's not coming from the Undaunted?' the man barked.

The crewman beside him shook his head in confusion. 'The signal bears their signature and the correct authorisation codes but the source of the transmission is much farther away. It's not even coming from the battle group!'

'Shut it off!' the sergeant yelled out. 'Shut it off now!'

Victus opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the crewman's panicked reply.

'It...it's not working!' The young turian stabbed at his haptic controls with increasing desperation. 'I-I don't believe this. The entire comm relay has been locked out!'

A chorus of shouts went up as one by one, every man in the CIC protested, their own instruments defying their inputs. A wave of anxiety hit Victus and his eyes snapped to Antulia.

'What's going on here, Captain?'

'I-I don't know,' Antuila stammered, his own gaze flickering from station to station in a manic effort to make sense of it all. 'Everyone is reporting the same thing. Their controls are unresponsive.'

Thinking quickly, the captain singled out a nearby crewman. 'You! Get down to engineering, I want to know what the situation is down there, now!'

The man saluted and set off at a run. Victus turned to Antulia with a questioning glance.

'I trust this isn't part of the exercise?'

Antulia did not smile and that was answer enough for Victus, but the captain replied nonetheless, his voice heavy with concern.

'I'm sure this is just a temporary malfunction, Sir.'

Antulia breathed deeply as he looked back out upon his scrambling crew.

'A temporary malfunction...'


	37. Chapter 37

 

Lina'Xen knew the wards well.

When she had first come to the Citadel she was frightened and starving, but also cunning. She knew the skills and knowledge she possessed would be useful to someone.

For nine months she scraped a living in the packed ward arms, doing whatever she could for a few credits and for a while, things were beginning to show promise. She had enough to eat and drink, and what little was left over she could pocket for herself.

Back on the flotilla, she’d often heard stories from those returning from Pilgrimage.

They spoke of homesickness, of prejudice and hate but Lina had already known worse from the day she was born. Even the harsh life of the wards was nothing compared to the isolation and torment Daro'Xen had put her through since childhood. In the darkness of the city streets, Lina had thrived.

The forests of buildings and interconnecting walkways were still fresh in her mind as she led Milo along.

Their route twisted from crowded thoroughfares into empty alleys, the Citadel's walls never changing from one location to the next. Keepers dotted the path, green splashes amid patches of red and purple light. Following them always were the murmurings of crowds and shuttle engines.

Lina kept looking back over her shoulder, knowing that to do it too often would give their plan away. They needed whoever was chasing them to believe they were unaware of his presence or the ambush would fail even before it had begun.

Every glance revealed a flicker of shadow, a familiar, dark bulk just at the edge of her vision and she was satisfied.

Milo had started to pant lightly, his chest heaving as Lina's brisk pace began to wear him down. Lina could tell he too longed to keep an eye at his back but he deferred to her constantly as he tried to act as casually as possible.

'You sure seem to know your way around,' he remarked. 'How long have you been on the Citadel?'

Lina felt herself growing irritated at the chatter, but reasoned that part of acting casual was to converse. In any case, Milo needed all the help he could get in taking his mind off the possibility of a slug in his back at any moment.

'A year,' she replied, 'I came here on my…my Pilgrimage. It's a rite of passage among my people wherein a young quarian leaves the ship of their birth and explores the galaxy, returning to a new ship when they have found something of value to the flotilla.'

She risked another look back. Their pursuer was too far behind. She had to slow down.

Milo nodded. 'I remember reading about the quarians' Pilgrimage a long time ago, back when I was studying galactic races. I take it you came straight to the Citadel?'

Lina looked aside briefly. She had not told a soul of her past with the exception of Arlen, and that was painful enough.

She probably should have known better than to think she could simply bury the truth, to pretend it all never happened. Though she felt closer to Milo than she had anyone else for a long time there were still things she had to conceal, at least for the time being.

'Yes,' she lied, 'but it was tough. I had to do things I'm not very proud of, just to survive from one day to the next.'

Milo's eyes widened and his response was uncomfortable. 'Oh, I see. I'm so sorry, Lina, I shouldn't have asked.'

'What?' Lina's head flitted briefly in his direction and in spite of their circumstances, her voice rose into a mortified yell. 'Not _those_ kind of things, you idiot! I just fell in with the wrong crowd!'

'Ah, of course,' Milo smirked.

Lina shook her head. The assumption had been so infuriatingly _like_ him and yet she felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she went on.

'I made a reputation for myself as a VI programmer. Illegal personality mods mostly, but their sophistication caught people's attention. Before long I was approached by men working for a local thug named Fist. He owns a club nearby called Chora's Den, have you heard of it?'

'Who in C-Sec hasn't?' Milo answered wryly.

Lina shot him a smile, hidden under her visor. 'He had me program a pair of hidden gun turrets in his office, a nasty surprise for anyone who came after him. I needed the credits so badly, I never considered that if C-Sec ever raided the place my work could cost them their lives.'

Milo reached up to squeeze her shoulder, his tone sympathetic. 'If you didn't, someone else would have. You were in a tough spot and you did what you had to just to get by.'

As his hand slipped from her suit, Lina realised everything she had told him so far was the truth. She was with C-Sec now, her dealings with Fist should have been a source of shame for her but with Milo, she knew she would not be judged.

Lina stared ahead, lost in memory. The wards held so many stories, so many tales of struggle and survival. They would never be known by those on the Presidium but here, in the streets, it was a way of life.

Her mind picked out details from the sleek walkways and brightly-lit kiosks. The scent of cooking meat was always strong and the hum of people coming and going never faded. In amongst the tangle of sensations, vivid recollections fuelled her words.

'For a quarian new to the Citadel, it's a challenge. For a quarian coming to the Citadel with nothing but the suit on her back…it's a game of survival. A single day is a battle just to feed yourself or avoid local gangs out for sport. In the end, things worked themselves out.'

Her pace slackened and Milo slowed, staying at her side.

'I'd been working for Fist for three months. I was hacking a set of shuttle VIs in the warehouse district out in Zakera when C-Sec came. I was taken into custody and the VIs seized. I thought for certain I was going back…I mean, going to prison.'

'But you're not there now?' Milo asked.

'No. Executor Pallin himself came to see me, intrigued by the young quarian girl Fist kept around. I guess the stories surrounding my work for him had spread further than I realised. I told him…'

She had told Pallin everything, Lina recalled, her head lowering at the thought of the old turian's mercy and understanding that day.

Pallin had sat with her in the interrogation room, nodding to himself as she recounted her childhood, her slavery, all that had happened to her up till that point. All she’d left out were the specifics. She had told him she’d been indentured to an engineering firm on Illium, not Synthetic Insights.

In hindsight, she was grateful that particular detail had been missed. Pallin may well have had her arrested once the news about Peak Ten came to light.

'I told him what he needed to hear, apparently,’ she went on. ‘A few days later Pallin approached me again offering a deal. I work for C-Sec as a tech specialist and consultant in the field of synthetic intelligence, or I go to a turian prison for the rest of my life. It wasn't much of an option, really.'

'Smart move. C-Sec gains an expert and you get to avoid prison. Win-win.'

'Perhaps,' she murmured. 'I've enjoyed the work well enough and since I was asked to join JSTF I've earned something of a reputation for myself. People no longer look down on me, or talk to me like something they've just scraped off their boot. In C-Sec, for the first time in my entire life, people respect me.'

Milo's voice was quiet, strangely awed by the woman beside him.

'Do you think you'll ever go back to the Migrant Fleet?'

That was an easy question. Lina shook her head.

'No. My people were never there for me to begin with and the only one I truly knew caused me nothing but suffering. I will never go back. There's nothing for me there.'

'You know, when all this is over you should come to Eden Prime with me. Spend a couple of weeks there on leave, unwind. I don't know why, but I think you'd enjoy it. Very peaceful, quiet, a good place to relax. You could certainly use it, after all you've been through.'

'So now you know what I'd enjoy?' Lina asked, fixing him with a look of affection.

Milo stared back at her, grinning. 'Just a hunch.'

'Thank you,' she said, returning her eyes to her front. 'I guess we really are becoming friends after all.'

The strings of citizens around them had thinned as they passed into a less populous part of the wards. There were no windows there, or at least none that offered a view of the space outside. This was the hidden heart of the Citadel, where the only light residents would see was that created by the station itself.

The pair fell quiet and the feeling of eyes on their backs returned stronger than before.

Neither dared to turn and to her consternation, Lina found her search for an ambush point interrupted by thoughts of Milo.

Speaking to him had yielded only more questions. Her position in C-Sec was an improvement, to be sure, but she was still bound there by her agreement with Pallin. Life had always imprisoned her in one way or another.

As her pulse started to quicken once more with the chase, Lina wondered if she would ever be truly free.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

General Victus frowned as the chaos around him continued.

The crew shouted across to one another while runners darted back and forth, their voices raised against the din. The dreadnought was massive, a kilometre in length, Victus reminded himself ruefully. Men could only travel so quickly.

He could only thank the designers who had the foresight to allow the manual opening of most doors throughout the ship. Like everything else, the Ascension's internal communications were down and the only way to get messages across was man to man.

Frowning, the old turian corrected himself. No, the comms weren't down. They were working. Everything was still working. The engines were still running, carrying them forward, still powered by the functioning drive core. The GARDIAN batteries and LADAR arrays were fully operational but they simply couldn't use them.

It was as if they had been locked out of their own ship, able only to watch as it went on with a mind of its own.

Captain Antulia stood nearby, doing his best to issue calm orders to his officers. Victus watched his brow plates twitch every few seconds, the only sign of his distress.

'And we can't respond?' he asked his Signals Officer.

The other turian shook his head lamentably. 'No, Sir. We're receiving flash-priority messages by the second from the rest of the battle group, all wondering why we're not keeping formation. Our silence is going to have them scratching their heads but they'll realise something's wrong soon enough. In the meantime we're trying to come up with alternative methods of communication.'

'Such as?'

The officer shrugged. 'Without access to the comm relays, we might as well hold up signs against the windows and pray they fly close enough to see them.'

Antulia made a low clicking in the back of his throat and Victus shared his frustration.

The situation was growing dire. Without the ability to contact the rest of the battle group, the other vessels could well fear a hijacking or even worse, a mutiny. Turian military doctrine preached harsh responses to both.

Antulia's Executive Officer slid to a halt before him and saluted roughly.

'Sir, news from the flight deck. Shuttles are operational but we can't get the hangar doors open. If worst comes to worst, the engineers can cut a hole big enough to send out one or two but they'll be working in vacuum.'

His voice quietened with trepidation. 'With things the way they are, there's no way we'll be able to guarantee air refill, either. They'll have an hour or so at the most to work with. After that, the shuttle hangar will be completely out of action.'

'And evacuation will be impossible,' Antulia murmured, finishing the train of thought. 'So we either abandon ship and lose the Ascension, or risk getting a lone shuttle out there, trapping ourselves aboard.'

The choice was an impossible one, Victus knew but he looked on with pride as Antulia straightened, forcing strength into his voice.

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Keep monitoring the situation. I want to know the second something changes.'

'Yes, Sir,' the XO answered before rigidly turning on the spot and making his way from the CIC.

Antulia looked at Victus wearily, his mounting terror reflected in clear, glassy eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, or more likely apologise but Victus would not have him embarrassed, not in such a situation.

The general stepped forward, his eyes on the galaxy map that glowed in front of the command platform.

'I see our course has changed,' he remarked, surprised at his own calm.

'Aye, Sir,' Antulia confirmed, nodding. 'Guidance systems too are unresponsive and Navs has confirmed we're heading towards a mass relay.' His gaze flickered down for a second, as if reluctant to continue. 'It…it's not the closest relay either. We're heading straight for Relay 107.'

It was a familiar name and Victus' lips parted slightly. He needed to hear it from someone else.

'That's a very specific destination. Tell me, Captain. Where does that relay lead?'

Antulia swallowed hard. 'It links to Relay 217. Sir.'

It was little wonder the crew were so stricken with panic. Victus could only imagine the thoughts on the minds of the other captains in the battle group when they realised the Ascension's destination, if they had not already.

'Shanxi,' Victus murmured.

The name had to be said aloud, and even though the noise of the CIC continued undisturbed, Victus knew every man and woman in the room would now be feeling the same sickly fear as he did.

He looked at Antulia. 'How long?'

'At current speed, twenty minutes.'

Victus tried to think ahead, to anticipate the next course of action. It was clear now this was no accident, nor any ordinary malfunction. The Ascension was out of control and heading directly for a mass relay that led to a human colony, perhaps the most famous one by turian reckoning.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the dread that had engulfed the ship. They had twenty minutes to stop the Ascension. If they failed, he could not bring himself to imagine what would happen next.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Krassus watched on the main screen as various images flashed up for all to see. 

Orange-lined LADAR readouts followed external imaging displays, views of empty stars rendered in grainy black and white. There were no internal cameras inside the Ascension, nor any microphones with which to listen in on the panicked crew. All he had to go on was his knowledge that at that moment, the ship was out of their control and they would be doing all they could to try and wrest it back.

Their efforts would be futile, that much Krassus knew. The Jamestown Virus was absolute in its influence and went about its purpose with flawless efficiency. A flagship of the turian navy would possess powerful anti-virus suites which would be hard at work trying to dislodge it but the work would take hours, perhaps even more than a day as the AI adapted and fought against its own extinction with all the ferocity of a living creature.

It was a simple but stunning creation.

'How long?' he asked.

At his side, Varn was back to his usual self; utterly still and impossible to read.

'Twenty minutes,’ Varn replied. ‘The virus knows its mission but once through the relay, it may realise it has possession of one of the largest and most powerful ships in the fleet - and the free will to do what it wants with it.'

At that, Krassus grinned.

It had always been the obstacle of machine intelligence. As the thing became smarter, the more difficult it would be to control. Until now.

'We'll activate the Fusion Directives immediately on arrival,' he said. 'I will keep my hold on the virus until it is destroyed. There'll be more than enough time and when we're done, war with the humans will be unavoidable.'

He looked briefly at Varn, his eyes sparkling. 'It started thirty years ago with Shanxi. That is where it'll end.'

His Second seemed unaffected by the palpable excitement. 'Sir, I suggest waiting until we're closer to the colony before activating weapons systems. I'm concerned the battle group will open fire if they realise the Ascension is going to attack.'

'Of course,' Krassus replied with a nod. It was good to hear the tribune was still thinking clearly. 'For now though, they still seem appropriately confused. If we can drag a few more of them into the inevitable response from Arcturus, all the better. How are the preparations going for the evacuation?'

'Smoothly, Sir. Second and third centuries are loading all essential equipment and supplies for the journey back to Palaven and our sympathisers in the navy have supplied us with patrol movements along our path. As soon as we're done with Shanxi, we will be safe behind the Hierarchy's walls and they won't even know it.'

'And when the war comes they may even welcome us as heroes.' Krassus grunted, knowing he was being fanciful.

He looked into Varn's yellow eyes. 'And the Kryik boy?'

'He's in no state to resist. His guards are on their way to move him as we speak, though…'

Varn hesitated and Krassus picked up on it. 'What it is, Avitus?'

The tribune began again, slowly. 'Sir, I'm not sure he can be trusted. He's as stubborn as his father was but has far more sense. He might just tell us what we want to hear and break free later.'

Krassus considered this as his head slowly turned back to the main screen.

'There is always risk, Avitus, but no more than with all the others I've taken into our ranks. You will just have to trust that I will know if he's lying. If he betrays us, or if he doesn't submit, he will die. It's that simple.'

'I hope so, Sir,' Varn said, hiding his doubt behind a grim mask.

As the screen ahead continued to fill with information, a stern-faced Legionary entered the room, a large black case in his hands. Carefully, he carried it to an empty desk and opened it. Krassus watched and after a few moments the Legionary strode up to him, saluting rigidly.

'The apparatus has been synchronised with the AI?' Krassus enquired.

'Yes, Sir,' the soldier replied. 'All you need to do is put it on when the time comes.'

Krassus looked down at the device. Project Deimos in Peak Ten had produced a single successful application of their research and it was in his hands.

It was a small grey targeting visor, designed to embrace both temples and project a display over the eyes. It was a turian marksmanship aid, adapted by his techs to serve a very different purpose.

In twenty minutes, he would put it to the test.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

At last, Lina's pace slowed. 

They had come out onto a bridge overlooking a massive traffic tunnel. Far below, hundreds of cars flew past in blurs of dark blue and red while holographic billboards lined the vast walls, images of dancing asari flickering as they moved in time with an invisible beat.

It was a staggering sight but neither Lina nor Milo took any notice of it as they strained their eyes and cocked their heads back the way they came.

'Do you think we lost him?' Milo said between heavy breaths.

They had been careful to maintain a healthy distance between themselves and their pursuer, though doing so was more exhausting than either of them had imagined. Their tension was like smog in the air, their eyes wide and unblinking as they worried their traitor was gone for good.

Though she had stopped, Lina could not relax. Her head moved from side to side, twitching around before she wandered to the side of the bridge and looked over the area.

She saw a series of dark slits in the tunnel walls far off to the right, windows for some distant path, perhaps. They were not close enough to be useful to her but still, this bridge was narrow enough and at the end she could make out several dark alcoves, pools of shadow easily capable of hiding a human or quarian.

'Keelah, I hope not,' she finally replied. 'An ambush isn't worth much if the prey doesn't fall into it.' Her eyes returned to the alcoves and she knew they had to make a decision. 'The question is; who's going to be the bait?'

'I'll sneak up on this guy and take him down,' Milo said immediately. 'I'm bigger than you and although I don't want to test the theory right now, I'm willing to bet I'm a little stronger.'

He knew Lina would object and raised his hand, silencing her pre-emptively. 'I'm not going to argue with you on this, Lina. It's the more dangerous job and you've had your share of danger this week. It's time to let someone else do some of the work.'

Lina did not know what to say. Though her heart was a driving, relentless force inside her chest, practicality took hold. She knew she would be no match for a turian in terms of physical strength and in any case, it was likely her the man was following to begin with.

Still, Milo's selflessness was a heavy thing to bear for someone unused to kindness. As before, when Arlen had decided to trust her, knowing she had participated in the development of the Jamestown Virus itself, it was almost too much to take.

She whispered quietly, the words almost lost in the drones of shuttles.

'I don't know what to say.'

Milo smiled at her. 'You can thank me when this works, okay? For now there's something I'd like to know, before we do anything.'

He stepped across to the edge of the bridge and leaned over the waist-high railing.

'Can you tell me what happened with Lorica? What she said?'

Lina shook her head. 'We don't have time. Whoever's following us could be here at any moment and I-'

Milo grasped her arm, gently but firmly, his eyes pleading.

'Please,' he said. 'I have to know. If something happens to either of us, if something happens to me, I couldn't take not knowing for sure.'

Sighing, Lina looked down at the ground. She wanted to tell him to stop being stupid but the words wouldn't come.

'I…' she sputtered reluctantly, 'I discovered the truth, Milo. She wasn't involved in any of it, it was just a misunderstanding.'

Milo raised an eyebrow. 'Is that it? What about the disappearances? The cold shoulders?'

Lina's mind raced as she realised she couldn't reveal Lorica's identity as Internal Affairs, no matter how much she wanted to. Instead, she settled for a portion of the truth, at the very least.

'Lorica was jealous,' she said with a shrug. 'She loves you, Milo and with the pressure we've all been under, with the two of us having to spend so much time together, Lorica just took it all a little badly. She knows it got out of hand and trust me when I say that she's sorry.'

Lina raised her head and looked into Milo's eyes, her heart aching as she gave him up for good.

'When this is over, you two will be happy together.'

'That's all there is to it?'

Nodding, Lina kept her voice even. 'Yes, that's all there is to it.'

He smiled gratefully. 'Thanks. I needed to hear that.'

Suddenly, a bright light flashed in Lina's visor. She frowned, unable to comprehend it.

Then the pain began.

It was a fierce, sharp spike that quickly spread through the rest of her body and she clutched a hand to her stomach, her eyes widening in shock as it came away covered in blood.

The world was quiet, the moment isolated and Lina fell slowly, her arms spreading as she spiralled down.

She hadn’t noticed Milo was carrying the pistol before but now she thought about it, it had always been there. It never seemed unusual. He was C-Sec, after all and they all had the right to carry sidearms.

He held it at his hip, the smile still on his face, now touched with regret as the quarian dropped to the ground with a muted thump.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I didn't want it turn out this way, honestly, I didn't.'

'You…' Lina whispered as she stared up at him. 'You were the double agent?'

Milo's lips twisted but his eyes were cold and uncaring, empty of the charm and mischief Lina had come to expect.

'Yes. Always have been, ever since they first came to me so many years ago. Even before I picked another face, I was their man.'

'Who? Who are you…working for?'

'A group of men and women more powerful than you can imagine,' he replied, his pistol resting in line with Lina's visor. 'They took me under their wing, showed me how to move unseen, remain hidden, even offered to make me one of them when the time came.'

Something glinted in Milo's gaze and his voice grew hungry. 'You can't understand, Lina, not until you hear their song, their… _beautiful_ words. They know what'll happen, how things will end and only by siding with them will I be spared.'

Lina closed her eyes and clenched her jaw against the agony wrapped around her stomach. The shot had pierced her suit and for the first time that she could remember, she felt the air on her body. It was unpleasant, the blood on her skin cooling even as it pumped viscously from her wound.

The tunnel above her stretched into darkness, fitting the chill that now took its grip. Her mouth-lamp flickered weakly.

'Why?' she asked.

She didn't understand. The man who had been at her side, who had been so solid and dependable even when the galaxy had turned on her was no longer there. In his place stood a stranger, who only gazed at her without feeling or remorse.

Milo lowered into a crouch and tapped the barrel of his weapon lightly against the glass of her helmet.

'Don't ask why. It really doesn't matter. In less than forty-eight hours everything will be ready, all our preparations complete. The Council will pay for what they did to our brothers long ago and in the chaos that will follow, the galaxy will come apart at the seams. The League will rise in the new age and I'll be there, watching at their side. It'll be worth all this. In less than two days, Yanus will bring about the end of everything you know.'

He leaned in closer and Lina watched helplessly as his face became clouded, his breath misting on her visor.

'That's what I tell myself. That all this lying, this killing, it'll be worth it in the end. You're a good person, Lina, a strong person. Lorica too. It's fortunate she doesn't know anything about what's really going on. If your answer had been different I'd have been forced to go back and tie up that loose end. Again, thank you for that. Killing one good person is hard enough.'

Lina's gaze became dull and Milo stood, stretching out the pistol in front of him.

'Goodbye, Lina.'

The shot sounded, a snap of thunder that rumbled through the tunnel.

Milo stumbled forward, as if pushed from behind and Lina blinked as her helmet was coated with a spatter of dark red.

Milo looked confused for a moment, then his features scrunched in pain and he clutched a hand to his chest. Blood poured from between his fingers and he gasped for air.

The Citadel fell silent as he looked into Lina's eyes.

His lips moved but Lina couldn’t hear anything. The numbing chill that had settled on her body had reduced everything to base sensations. She vaguely sensed someone running over to them from the end of the bridge but she focused the last of her strength on Milo.

Her fingers twitched as he staggered back and toppled over the edge of the bridge, lost to her in an instant. The sight hurt Lina far more than anything else at that moment and she let her eyes close, unwilling to see any more.

In the final moments, as the quarian's sight faded to a mass of shifting grey shapes, she saw Garrus arrive at her side, breathless.

The barrel of his Mantis rifle smoked as he knelt beside her, a frantic expression on his face.

'Damn!' he cursed as he saw Lina's eyes close. 'Come on, don't give up! Come on, Lina!'

He swore again under his breath.

'Don't die on me!'

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Legionary Tellan walked quickly, the soles of his boots scuffing noisily on the stone beneath. There was no activity on the basement level of the Legion compound and all sound carried down the cold, dank corridors. 

Tellan was still hot after being forced to change into full armour for the evacuation and his temper was foul. They had all been faced with the order, of course, though instead of helping his squad with the carrying of equipment he’d been given the relatively easy job of escorting the Legion's latest prisoner.

It was affront to his experience and Tellan swore, though it came out as a simple hiss through his helmet respirator. He’d served five years in the army before joining the Legion and yet they still saw fit to grant him the crap jobs, just because he was a newcomer.

'Come on,' he snapped, 'keep up or I'm leaving you behind!'

It did not help that Tellan had been paired with another new guy for the task, one who knew his way around even less well than Tellan did.

The other had not spoken since they were left alone together and perhaps that was why Tellan disliked him. He hadn't even been bothered to introduce himself.

As expected, the other man simply shrugged silently and Tellan felt his blood boil. Such disrespect deserved a beating in the dark hours but he couldn't let himself get distracted by such thoughts. It was not far to the cells and as soon the job was done he could be away and back with his century.

The metal door squealed harshly as it opened, making Tellan cringe.

The cell was a miserable cube of filthy grey rock, with a single bed and latrine lining the far wall. His eyes fastened on the still form at their feet.

It was a fellow turian, a young one by what he could gather but the boy's age was concealed by patches of blood and bruises. It seemed no inch of his body was unmarked in some way and the sight made Tellan swallow dryly. Centurion Tacitus had been busy with this one.

'Get him on his feet,' Tellan ordered and was relieved to see the new guy nod and make his way over. Tellan had half-expected the instruction to be ignored and the last thing he wanted was to have an argument when there was work to be done.

Then something caught his eye.

Frowning, Tellan's gaze travelled to the bed. It was oddly askew, the metal frame dipping ever so slightly to one-

He took in a deep breath and prepared to shout but it was too late.

With a sudden blur of movement, the prisoner swept out the iron bar, a leg wrenched from the frame of the bed, and knocked Tellan's companion onto his back.

Tellan stood for a moment, paralysed with indecision. His finger grasped for the trigger of his rifle out of instinct but this was the general's prisoner and had been kept alive for a reason. His death could mean punishment.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen read the guard's hesitation and leapt to his feet, stumbling slightly as his wounds jarred.

The man came to his senses and raised his rifle but Arlen was close enough. He flicked out the bar, catching the rifle's barrel and pushing it aside.

His foe cursed loudly as his finger slipped away from the trigger and Arlen leaned in, grasping his arm and breaking it at the elbow. The guard howled in pain but the sound was cut off in an instant with a sharp, splintering crack.

Arlen stepped away and let the guard’s body fall lifelessly, the metal bar sticking crudely out of his visor.

The other man had risen to his feet and Arlen moved instantly, grabbing his armour by the collar.

'Wait!'

The voice brought Arlen's fist to a halt. It wavered, clenched in the air. He peered at the guard, green eyes shining cautiously through lids made dark with blood. The voice was familiar.

'It's _me,_ kid!'

Arlen released a breath. Grudgingly, he let go of the guard, who staggered back before pulling off his helmet.

Sergeant Heiros panted, more with relief than exhaustion. 'Spirits be damned, boy, I've never seen anybody fight like that! I knew there was something about 'ya back on Noveria, I freaking knew it!'

The world came back to Arlen gradually. Sound again began to filter back into his ears and the taste of metal crept back onto his tongue. He glared at Heiros intensely, unwilling to trust anything at that time, least of all his own eyes.

'How did you survive?' Arlen asked. His voice was dark and hoarse with pain.

Heiros' reply was unsteady, the old turian unnerved by the gore-drenched figure in front of him.

'I got tagged back at the shuttle crash. I don't even remember passing out but they found me and patched me up. They stuck me in a cell but I managed to get out this morning.'

Arlen's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'How?'

'Same way you did. They sent a single man, a young hothead to pick me up. Guess they figured an old man like me wouldn't cause any trouble but the young idiot didn't have his helmet on.' He smiled proudly. 'Only took one punch. Guess I never lost it.'

'And they haven't realised someone's missing yet?'

Heiros jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. 'Everything's crazy out there. They're packin' up, leavin'. They'll know something's up eventually though, and that's why we gotta get the hell out while we can!'

Shaking his head, Arlen limped to the guard lying dead on the ground.

'I still have a job to do.'

'What's that, kid?' Heiros scoffed. 'Cleanin' the latrines? In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a hostile friggin' zone here! There's hundreds of these nut jobs runnin' around and you're talkin' about stayin'? You touched in the head or somethin'?'

'I don't have to explain it!' Arlen snapped, his temper fraying. 'You have the disguise, you can source a shuttle, some kind of transport.'

Heiros brought up his hands defensively. 'Whoa there, kid. I ain't doin' nothin' until I know what you're up to. All I'm seein' is a young fool who wants to get himself killed for no good reason.'

Shutting his eyes, Arlen tried to control himself but his patience was thin, made weak by injury and panic. He sucked in wheezing breaths through his crushed nostrils and focused.

He knew this was his only chance and he spoke to Heiros again, his voice soft.

'I work for Citadel Security, Sergeant. I'm an Interceptor, an agent responsible for apprehending men wanted by the C-Sec.' He nodded beyond the cell walls. 'The man I'm after is General Jardan Krassus, the leader of this terrorist cell. Did you hear about the destruction of a human passenger ship a week ago? The Jamestown?'

Heiros nodded, his mandibles parting slightly as he digested Arlen’s revelation.

Arlen continued. 'These are the people responsible. I have to complete my mission or all those humans who died will have done so for nothing. Not only that but they're in the middle of mounting another attack. If they succeed…'

'Then we're screwed,' Heiros finished. He looked aside, overcome with a stunning mix of awe and terror. 'By the buggering spirits, what have I gotten myself into…?'

The old man started as Arlen clasped him on the shoulder.

'I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Sergeant, honestly I am but I need your help. I surrendered because I had a feeling they’d rather take me prisoner than kill me. It was my only shot at getting in alone and I was right.'

'Why alone? You got some kind of death wish?'

Shaking his head, Arlen's eyelids dropped for a moment. 'I'm not the only one here, on this planet. There are others, humans. They want Krassus for what he did to their people. I can't let them get to him first or my mission will be a failure.'

Heiros raised a hand to his brow and massaged it roughly. 'I can't believe I'm hearing this. Listen to yourself, boy! This is an impossible situation! It's just you and me against a whole damn army! Let the humans have this Krassus guy. If what you said is true then it sounds like no more than what he deserves.'

'It's not about what he deserves, it's…'

Arlen's legs buckled in a moment of weakness and Heiros stepped forward to hold him steady.

Arlen’s mouth moved silently as all of his thoughts and contemplations came to the fore. He felt the sting of disloyalty in the words he considered but they were the truth, one he had discovered after a week of battle, torment and survival. He felt his old training tug at the back of his tongue but he ignored it, his mind made up.

'I know, all right?' he said. 'I know the humans have a rightful claim to Krassus. They should be the ones to take him in and claim a measure of vengeance for all the pain he's inflicted on their people. I haven't known their kind long but…I know them well enough.'

The thought of Keller was like a warm torch in the dark for him, and he met Heiros' gaze again, steadily.

'But I'll never run away from my duty, do you understand? Just as the humans will do what they do, so will I. I'm a turian, and I won't fail.' His head tilted towards the cell door. 'You've made your decision. If you want to go then go, I won't stop you. But I'm moving on, with or without your help.'

Heiros could only stare blankly at the blood-drenched young man as his mouth worked, trying to find something to say but Arlen' eyes were like iron, unflinching and rigid.

With a quick glance at the fallen Legionary to his side, Heiros sighed. 'I guess if anybody can do this it's you,' he said.

He let go of Arlen as strength returned to his legs.

'You know, I'm never one to shirk a little hard work and I ain't no coward. I just…' He flinched slightly, as if the words stung him. 'I got a family, I told you that, right? Back on Palaven. A son, Maela…my wife. She's a beautiful woman, strong, caring, can't imagine what she sees in a stiff like me.'

As he straightened, Arlen's features softened as he watched long-suppressed fear leach from Heiros, thoughts that the old man had to get off his chest before the end. Arlen understood, and he listened as Heiros' lips quivered.

'I…I want to see them again, you understand? I can't die here, can't leave 'em wonderin' what happened to me. That's why I didn't stay on for extended service in the legions. I've done enough, I've put in my time. I can't leave them alone.'

The remark seemed to take some of the breath from Arlen's lungs and he nodded slowly.

'I…your son…he's lucky to have a father like you.'

'I'm the lucky one. That's why I'd like to stay lucky.'

Reaching out, Arlen clapped a hand on the sergeant's shoulder once more. 'You're not going to die. I just need an escape route. You get to wherever it is they keep their shuttles and I'll signal you when I have Krassus. If we stick together we're more likely to get noticed anyway.'

Heiros grunted. 'It's a crap plan but it's the best we got. What if somethin' goes wrong?'

'Give me one hour,' Arlen replied with as much certainty as he could. 'Either this happens fast or it doesn't happen at all. I'll take this guard's uniform as a disguise.'

He nodded down at the dead turian and a frown flickered across his face.

'But I'll need a new helmet.'

Heiros gripped his own protectively, sensing Arlen's thoughts. There was only one helmet between them and each man needed it equally.

Arlen shook his head. 'I'll think of something. I'll also need a weapon.'

'Here.' Heiros turned to pull out a sidearm from his armour's holster and offered the pistol to Arlen. 'I prefer the rifle, myself.'

Arlen looked with distaste at the weapon in Heiros' hand. It was an enormous pistol, likely a private weapon owned by the original wearer of Heiros' armour. Certainly, Arlen had never seen it before in the military.

It was a blocky construction of dull grey, striped with garish red paint that had flaked off in most places. He took it by the grip and his arm sank, unprepared for the enormous weight.

'I'm supposed to fire this thing? I can barely lift it,' he grumbled. Tilting it to one side, he read aloud the name stamped into the body. ' _Carnifex._ Huh…well, at least the name fits.'


	38. Chapter 38

 

Krassus could almost taste the fear in the turian battle group as a dozen messages were relayed fruitlessly to the Ascension minutes before it entered the mass relay. 

Though it was little more than scrawls of bright numbers and letters, their panic could be read in the signals thrown between each ship, all the way down the line from carrier to frigate. Confusion was rife, as Krassus knew it would be and it paralysed them all with indecision.

The very moment the Ascension entered Relay 217, the battle group had stalled, unwilling to go any further and risk interstellar war.

At this, Krassus frowned pensively. He’d hoped they would follow their lost dreadnought through to Shanxi but it seemed his people had lost their nerve since his day.

He knew if he was commanding the battle group he would go through the relay regardless of what the humans would make of it. He would impose his presence and dare the humans to retaliate, knowing they would steer well clear until his business was complete.

Such weakness, such hesitance only firmed his resolve in the Legion's cause.

War would come now whether the Primarch liked it or not and the turian race would have to find its former strength, no matter how little of it was left to find.

'Sir?'

Krassus glanced at a nearby optio, who held out the Fusion device with steady hands.

'The Ascension has cleared the relay. It's time.'

Nodding, the general took the visor and turned it over in his hands. It was a sinister-looking thing, and as he thumbed a button on the side, several needle-like protrusions emerged from the bulk of the device.

Krassus swallowed hard as he realised they would be in line with the folds above his brow plates and his mind filled with fearful images of the vicious points burrowing into his skull.

'This has never been fully tested until now,' he murmured.

Still at his side, Varn answered. 'I am here if you need me, Sir. I'll gladly test it.'

Krassus smiled at such loyalty. 'That won't be necessary, Avitus. We cannot fail now, and if something should happen to me, you will lead the Legion well in the coming war. I know it.'

'Yes, Sir,' Varn confirmed solemnly. He dipped his head, visibly searching for the right words for the moment. In the end, there was only the same motto that had carried them all to this point.

'For the glory of the Legion, Sir.'

'For the glory of the Legion,' Krassus repeated.

Sniffing, he cast all of his doubts aside as best he could and slipped the apparatus onto his head. The device clamped onto his temples instantly, gripping his flesh. An amber display spread out between the two halves, a warm band over his eyes that filled with rivers of incomprehensible data.

Krassus grunted as the needles shot into his head but the pain was fleeting. Within seconds, his flesh became numb and his mind was overcome with noise.

It was like waking suddenly in a strange, loud place and Krassus ground his teeth as the noise intensified.

The display before his eyes became awash with pictures, colours and shapes. He saw a ship, the Ascension perhaps, but it was as if viewed from a dream. He could not focus on any one thing with his sight. It was thought that mattered.

The virus, the AI, was linked directly to his consciousness and his own will shaped it and made it move. He tested it, probing the ocean of light and sound and it rippled in response to his curiosity.

He asked it a question and it answered immediately. He bade it kneel and it did so.

Smiling, Krassus revelled in the control he now had. He could not see the ship, but he knew it was his. He felt the power and it was glorious.

Through the virus he felt the Ascension as an extension of his own body, something that responded to his every thought. Simply by willing it, he could overload the drive core and tear the ship apart if he so chose. Every inch of his body held a life of its own, one that could be extinguished at a whim with a simple venting of the compartment's atmosphere.

There was resistance, as Avitus had predicted.

The AI was angry with Krassus. It wanted to remain independent and free of his influence. He felt the heat of its fury at his intrusion but it was a childish tantrum, ineffectual and ultimately pointless.

Krassus was a part of it now. He was its master and it would obey.

Outside the swirling mass of thought, the men of the Legion looked on in awe as their general flexed a fist and in response, the main screen flashed brightly.

The dreadnought's weapons were now online.

The Ascension belonged to Krassus.

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

Captain Antulia lowered his voice and Victus noticed the moisture that bathed the flesh of the man's neck.

'With respect, Sir, I can't let you do that. This is my ship and I won't have it be the final resting place of General Adrien Victus.'

'Your devotion to my safety,' the general quirked a smile, 'and my choice of grave, is noted, Captain. But I'm just an old soldier, one with too many memories of this place as it is.'

Victus gazed out onto the tiny planet ahead, his voice barely a murmur.

'Thirty years ago, when I was a snot-nosed boy in the Seventh, a general led us all to a war we would come to regret. It's only fitting that another turian general gives his life to stop the same thing happening again.'

Antulia swayed gently on the spot as he tried to think of something, anything that could change Victus' mind. Nothing came and after a few moments, he nodded.

'As you wish, Sir. I will begin the evacuation immediately.'

'Good man.'

Victus gazed out again on Shanxi, noting with quiet alarm the number of human ships now visible, over a dozen white specks littering the space between the planet and the Ascension.

They had nothing bigger than a frigate, however. While their anti-ship lasers and missiles would damage the turian dreadnought severely, if the Ascension chose to it could cleave a path right through them. Certainly, they would not be able to stop her.

Victus held the thought in his head as he addressed Antulia again. 'The way is clear? I only have to close the blast door?'

Again, the captain struggled to answer. 'Aye, Sir. The emergency containment door is one of several lining the inner barrel of the Ascension's main gun. It was designed to be closed manually in a crisis, even with total loss of power. It's heavy and you'll struggle to close it by yourself but it is possible.'

'And the door will block the path of the warhead as it leaves the chamber,' Victus continued, still staring into space. He released a quiet sigh. 'Hopefully the blast will be enough to render the gun useless afterwards.'

'More likely it will tear the ship apart,' Antulia said with a grimace. He leaned closer to Victus, unable to contain his doubts any longer. 'Sir, there must be another way. I implore you, let me go in your place. It's a captain's duty to go down with his ship.'

Victus smiled without meeting his eyes. It had been the general who had anticipated the Ascension's weapons would come online in the first place.

It had been obvious. Their destination was too exact to be a coincidence and by the time the ship's guns had begun to warm up he had finalised his plan to sabotage them. It would only take one man but time was short. The crew had to leave now, before it was too late.

'I've made my decision,' he said, finally turning to face Antulia. His eyes were hard and the captain knew then Victus would not be argued with. 'You will evacuate with the others and I will close the blast door. Is that clear, Captain?'

Biting on the last of his defiance, Antulia bobbed his head gravely and saluted, his limbs stiff.

'Clear, Sir. I'll give the word to begin the evacuation at once. You'd better get moving down to the gun deck if you want to get there in time, the Ascension is almost within range.'

Antulia turned on the spot and took a halting step before pausing. His expression shifted before he glanced at Victus over his shoulder.

'Thank you, Sir. I'll see to it this sacrifice will forever be remembered by our people.'

Victus shook his head. 'I don't care if it's remembered. I just want it to work.'

The comment made Antulia blink in surprise, and as he gave a final nod Victus wondered why it made him want to laugh. Perhaps it was the simple familiarity of death, or that his career would end in such a manner. He thought of his many critics, and hoped they would be just as scathing of his death as they were of all the decisions he’d made up to that point.

The idea had Victus smiling wistfully as he left the CIC and began the long journey to the Ascension’s main gun.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The office of Centurion Tacitus was as austere as the cells he watched over, with only bare stone walls and a single desk to set it apart. The tools of his grim trade were packed neatly in a box next to an old terminal, out of the way and yet still within easy reach. 

Tacitus grumbled to himself as he prodded at his terminal display, swiping aside line after line of orange-hued message screens.

The Legion was preparing to leave the miserable planet of Zorya, and not a moment too soon, in Tacitus' opinion. Besides the insects, the wild varren and the humidity there were just too few bars in which he could drown his boredom.

He ached for the simple days on Palaven, where he could lose himself in a brothel or two on weekends. By comparison, Zorya was soldiering at its purest; and therefore most dull.

Still, it wasn’t all bad, the centurion thought to himself with a grunt. The past few days had brought an energy to the place that had been sorely lacking of late. Since Tribune Varn had returned from wherever he'd disappeared to, and with the capture of the C-Sec boy things had even gotten exciting.

Frowning, Tacitus broke his relentless glare at the terminal and his lips flicked upwards irately. The two morons he’d sent to retrieve the Kryik lad should have been back by now and he swore if he had to come looking for them there'd be hell to pay.

A scuffling noise caught his ear and he growled over his shoulder. 'You took your sweet time! Hurry up and get him-'

'Sorry,' spoke a young voice, and Tacitus froze at the touch of a weapon on the back of his neck. 'Change of plan.’

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

‘Where's my gear?' Arlen asked.

He was desperate to get his omni-tool back and link up with Petra and he made no effort to hide it. He pressed the Carnifex’s barrel sharply into Tacitus' neck plates, making the centurion cringe.

'Tell me now,’ Arlen hissed, ‘or I'll make do with yours.'

Tacitus snorted. 'If you fire that weapon every man in this compound will hear it.'

'I don't need to fire it,' Arlen whispered harshly. He brought the heavy pistol down like a club against the bare neck and Tacitus grunted in pain.

Arlen staggered suddenly as Tacitus kicked out his legs, forcing his chair back hard. The force of the impact sent Arlen stumbling and Tacitus quickly took advantage as he pushed himself out of the seat and threw open the box of tools on his desk.

When Arlen looked up, the bulky centurion was brandishing a wicked curved knife that glinted with every small movement.

Tacitus sprang forward and the blade licked out in silvery flashes. Arlen moved his head aside, reading the thrusts neatly and he struck out as Tacitus pulled back, catching him cleanly in the jaw with the Carnifex.

The blow rocked Tacitus back and he crashed into the desk, sending his equipment skittering across the ground in a series of metallic chimes. He did not take his eyes from Arlen however, and he straightened in time to meet a hard punch, blocking it with a forearm.

Their efforts thudded upon armour, a stalemate of loud cracks and grunts. Tacitus went at Arlen with the knife again, grinning cruelly. His swipes whistled through the air and he forced the Interceptor back once again.

Arlen tasted his own blood on his lips and could feel the flesh there swelling. The pain made him angry, fuelling his resolve as Tacitus hacked madly, with no sign of slowing.

Tacitus did not see Arlen's hand loop around the chair. The centurion’s smile disappeared as a dark shape raced towards his head and he could do nothing to stop it.

The chair met his skull with a loud smash, and the entire thing shattered into pieces with the force of the blow. Tacitus cried aloud in confusion and fear, his eyes closed tightly as he stumbled back.

He was helpless against the hand that took his knife arm and broke it at the wrist. He did not scream, the agony instead hissing dully from his nostrils as the bones snapped. The knife fell from his grip to clatter on the ground.

Arlen felt a multitude of pains echo throughout his body and silently wondered how many wounds he'd taken in those frantic seconds without actually noticing.

He didn’t have time to do the math. Tacitus’ back hit the desk and Arlen took hold of his throat. Tacitus coughed against the pressure, blood spattering from his open mouth. He opened his eyes again to find Arlen staring back at him. There was no mercy in that gaze, not after everything he had put Arlen through.

Arlen saw his own features reflected in Tacitus’ eyes. There was something in there, something dark and twisted, and a distant part of Arlen recoiled at the change he saw in himself.

It was a feeling easily quashed, however. The reality of Arlen’s situation overrode all else and he moved to pick up a scalpel from the spilled contents of Tacitus' case.

'My equipment,' Arlen snarled. He pressed the point of the scalpel towards Tacitus' eye, his hand steady and his features gnarled with anger. ' _Now!_ '

'I-it's being held in storage,' Tacitus stammered. The words were slurred and Arlen realised the man’s jaw was broken. 'Take a right out of here and up the stairs, it's the first door on the left.'

Arlen blinked as he digested the information and it slowly dawned on him that he hadn't anticipated the torturer would break. His mind raced, wondering what he should do with the man.

It settled quickly, and Arlen firmed his mouth in distaste at what it compelled him to do.

In his mind, Arlen was thrown back into a dark, musty room. Explosions rattled the barricaded windows and shook dust from the ceiling, and the soft popping of gunfire was a constant presence. A batarian sat in an old chair, slumped over in pained misery. Olansi was there, a shard of glass in one hand.

He had argued, Arlen remembered. The salarian wanted to torture Bashik and kill him either way but Arlen had stopped him. Why? Why did he stop him? The reasons seemed childish to him now.

Arlen looked at Tacitus blankly, his hand gripping his throat, the scalpel so close to his flesh.

Olansi's words flashed through Arlen's head.

 _'This isn't a game, Interceptors! This is a mission, and it always,_ always _stands on a knife's edge, ready for an act of weakness to sends it crashing down. Sooner or later, you'll have to takes that first step into this world!'_

They repeated as Arlen's hand moved down, bringing the scalpel to Tacitus' throat. He couldn't let the man live. He was too dangerous and would expose Arlen immediately if he let him go.

Arlen closed his eyes. He did not want to see.

He felt the centurion thrash in his grip, suddenly wild with panic. The frenzied movements seemed to last forever as Arlen worked the blade until finally, the body beneath him grew still.

Arlen dropped the scalpel and forced his eyes open, turning deliberately away from Tacitus' slumping corpse as he did so. He brought his shaking hands up - two wet blue masses - and suppressed the sudden urge to vomit.

 _It had to be done,_ he repeated to himself as he fled the office. He had no choice.

He tried to summon Tacitus’ directions above the thoughts of hot blood rushing over his fingers as he ran.

It did not work.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The Ascension surged forward through the empty void, the planet before it growing steadily larger with each passing moment. It swam alone, a behemoth against the stars, and in its path sat a handful of Alliance ships. 

They were resolute in their defiance, despite standing no chance against a ship of such overwhelming power.

Victus had taken one final look at them through a local viewing port before silently continuing his way through the ship. The place was odd without the crew there to fill its flats and compartments. Only the drone of air vents and distant hum of the drive core was present, while the constant smell of oil and machinery was unbroken by the sour tang of working bodies.

Victus clanged down a ladder onto the gun deck and emerged into a vast, cream-hued tunnel, its length dotted with pale yellow lights. A metal gantry ran along the walls and the path was lined with glowing haptic consoles.

This was the mass accelerator, the barrel of the Ascension's main gun. A kilometre in length, it ran through the ship, an entire vessel built around one weapon of unimaginable destructive power.

Victus moistened his lips as he stared to his right, at the ominous, pulsing blue light at the very end of the tunnel.

He had never before seen the effects of such a weapon on a planet. The practice was technically against Council law, forbidding the use of weapons of mass destruction against a garden world. It was during the Krogan Rebellions that a turian dreadnought had last fired on a planet and the results were devastating; not to mention permanent.

Oddly, Victus found his courage bolstered by that horrifying thought. He would not allow the same to happen to Shanxi.

Grunting, the old turian hefted his body over the gantry and stepped onto the surface of the tunnel. Victus held himself steady, though it was all too frightening to know he was standing inside the barrel of one of the largest weapons in the galaxy.

The ground beneath his feet vibrated gently, making the flesh beneath his armour tingle. Shutting out his discomfort, Victus made his way further down, to where a thick partition narrowly jutted from the tunnel walls.

This was it, this was the blast door that would foul the shot and destroy the Ascension.

He hesitated at the sheer size of it. Several large handles lay embedded in the edge but they seemed redundant. The door looked far too large for any one man to shift. A haptic panel flickered on its side but Victus didn't bother to try it. He knew it wouldn’t work.

He looked down at his hands and flexed them in anticipation. The ship howled around him, the sounds of heavy machinery carried down the length of the cannon barrel until they became a single ghostly cry. It was a cold place to be, in more ways than one.

Breathing deeply, Victus took a firm grip on the handles and started to pull. He leaned back and bared his teeth, straining and groaning with the effort.

The blast door began to move, slowly, assisted by servos that responded to the movement independently. Victus wondered why they hadn't locked down but did not question his luck. He continued to pull, his strength buoyed by the sight of the massive slab of metal sliding across the tunnel's width.

Heavy steel whined as it ground against the floor, filling the empty space with its shriek. Victus spared a thought for Captain Antulia and his crew, now safely aboard the shuttles and making their way towards the colony. Hopefully the humans would see them and know something was amiss.

The captain would explain everything. Even if he was too late, the explosion as the dreadnought's warhead struck the blast door might just be enough to avert disaster.

The door manoeuvred itself into position over the last few feet as powerful guidance rails braced the enormous weight and eased it to a halt. Victus stepped inside at the last moment, sliding neatly out of the way before ensuring the seal was tight and free of obstruction.

As the great door fell silent, he leaned against it to catch his breath.

He had felt it as he worked; the vibrations were growing stronger beneath him. The shrill voice of an alarm started from beyond the tunnel walls and Victus turned to face the bright light at the end, his expression grim.

It pulsed and flared with energy, readying itself to release its deadly payload.

The alarms grew wild and Victus' heart raced. This was the end for him and his final thoughts were of his men, and one in particular.

'Tarquin,' he murmured, the word lost to the rumble of Ascension's main gun.

Victus blinked as his vision suddenly went black and everything fell silent.

He assumed death had taken him but he was still breathing, his chest still hurting from the force of his own pounding heart. He still tasted the salty terror-sweat that dripped from his upper lip.

He was alive, but how?

A single light appeared in the dark, then another. One by one, each of the tunnel lights appeared, spots of gentle yellow in the black. The tunnel around Victus lit up and the blast door behind him let out a chugging whir.

Frowning, Victus instinctively raised a hand to the door's haptic interface and the device chimed noisily, the buttons brightening under his touch.

'It's working?' he muttered to himself in disbelief. The ship must have rebooted its systems somehow.

He keyed in a few quick commands and the blast door groaned open.

'I don't believe it. It's actually working!'

Victus cast a nervous glance behind him and was relieved to see the gun was calm, the energy at it’s end steady.

He could not fathom what was happening and so he focused on the one thing he could do.

Slipping through the gaps in the tunnel wall and back onto the gantry, he made his way back to the CIC. He could at least try and get a message out to the human ships and explain the situation.

As the pressure finally left him, Victus chuckled to himself.

He didn't know who or what had saved them but he thanked the spirits for their intervention.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Krassus balled his hands into fists, clenching them tightly.

He was losing control.

He felt the Ascension slipping from his fingers, his senses emptying of the information and feedback of its sensors. He no longer felt the crew scurrying from it in panic or the warm excitement of the main gun as it was about to fire.

It was at that moment the darkness came. Now his mind was empty and black and he probed it desperately.

'Why?' he asked aloud. 'Why won't you listen, damn it?'

He wanted answers. The AI was not screaming in frustration like before. It was not cursing the general.

Now it was smiling. It knew what was going on.

'You have betrayed me, General.'

The AI's voice was chillingly familiar to Krassus. His heart sank and his reply was weak.

'Yanus?'

The AI had no face. Yanus never had a face. Yet in the darkness, a shape emerged. It was a mass of pulsating red lines of light, a mesh that shifted with every moment, yet never strayed too far from a distinctive shape.

It bore a keen resemblance to a salarian.

'You didn't think I would allow you the key to the most powerful weapon in the galaxy, did you? After everything that has happened?' Yanus asked, smiling. 'After all my generosity, after all my help and you scorn my orders, ignore them. And you think you would then be able to simply carry out this attack without my permission? You insult me, General.'

'The Fusion Directives,' Krassus said quietly, 'they were linked to you, weren't they? Right from the beginning? I never had control of the virus. It was…it was you all along.'

Yanus chuckled harshly. 'Of course. Though it was amusing, feeling your enthusiasm there for a moment, your hope. You actually believed you were going to pull it off. I could taste your excitement - and your disappointment.'

'You…' Krassus snarled. His bewilderment was quickly giving way to anger and it coursed through him, making his voice dark with rage. 'When I find you, Yanus, I'll cut your damned heart out, I swear it!'

'I highly doubt that,' Yanus replied calmly. The construct raised a hand dismissively. 'In fact, I think you have bigger concerns than me right now. It's time to return to the real world, General. Enjoy it while you can.'

Krassus closed his eyes as blinding white filled them and a screeching noise assailed his ears. He clenched his muscles in a spasm of discomfort and another voice broke through the glare.

'Sir?' he heard Varn say, his tribune’s voice straining with worry. 'Sir, are you all right?'

The white light receded and Krassus was shocked to see Avitus standing over him, the ceiling just beyond. It took several moments for the general to realise he was laying on his back.

'What happened?' he rasped.

'You collapsed, Sir,' Varn answered sternly and nodded towards the main screen. 'Sir, what's going on? The Ascension is reporting full control over all their systems. The crew is on their way back to the ship as we speak and the humans are aiding them.'

'It was a trick,' Krassus mumbled, clasping a hand to his throbbing skull. 'Yanus had control of the virus, not me. He waited until the main gun was ready to fire and…'

Suddenly, Yanus' threat came back to him and Krassus looked around in panic.

'We have to get out of here. Have the men evacuate immediately!'

'But Sir, I-'

'Now, Avitus!' Krassus yelled as he scrambled to his feet. ' _Now!_ That's an order!'

'Tribune Varn!' someone cried from across the room. Varn rounded on them immediately, furious at the interruption.

'What is it, Legionary?'

'Sir, our systems,' the young turian replied haltingly, fear getting the better of his tongue. 'They're not responding!'

The words were all too familiar, and Varn glanced back at Krassus, the two men finding the same, knowing terror in each other's eyes.

'It's Yanus,' Krassus said, confirming their fears. 'He's using the damn virus against us. He has control.'

‘All of you, pack up and prepare to move out!’ Varn snarled. ‘On the double!’

As the tribune’s voice rang out, Krassus looked beyond him, towards the window. He stepped towards it, for a moment unaware of all else around him.

The sun had begun to dip towards the mountains, bathing his features with gold, but the general’s eyes were locked on what lay below.

The compound walls were ringed with heavy automatic guns, each capable of laying down a barrage of explosive shells with withering accuracy. Krassus’ throat was achingly dry as he watched the nearest turret turn slowly towards the window.

He darted back and filled his lungs. 'Everybody out, now! Get-'

The explosion was a mass of sound and black dust. The wall blew out around Krassus and he felt himself carried along with it, pieces of stinging burning debris tearing at his skin all the way.

He hit the ground and was vaguely aware of being helped to his feet.

Varn shouted at him and Krassus blinked, trying to purge the weakness and shock from his system.

'We need to evacuate!' Varn shouted. 'Sir, can you hear me?'

Krassus nodded numbly. He could barely feel his limbs but was aware enough to speak.

'See to the evacuation, Avitus, we need shuttles in the air as soon as possible.’

Varn shook his head. ‘With our defences in Yanus' hands, it won't be safe, Sir. Yanus will be able to shoot down any craft that attempts to leave. Get to your private quarters, it's the safest place for you right now. We can evacuate once the turrets are back under our control.'

'I'm not hiding while my men die,' Krassus growled. 'You know I can't do that!'

Varn ignored all vagaries of protocol and gripped his oldest friend by the shoulder.

'Please, Sir. I… _we_ haven't come all this way just to see you get killed. If you die, the Legion dies with you. Please, Sir, just let us fight for you, now of all times. Allow me to make up for my mistakes.'

For a moment Krassus saw in Varn the same friend who had come to him when they had boarded the shuttles to escape Shanxi so many years ago.

They had stood, burning with humiliation and disbelief as Renius ordered them away, so many of their friends and brothers dead for nothing. Yet so many had lived, thanks to the man who would become their general himself one day.

Krassus saw the same awe in his tribune's eyes as back then and knew he could not deny him.

'Very well,' Krassus agreed with a slow nod. 'Get the job done, Tribune.'

Varn saluted and turned to give orders to the scrambling Legionaries.

After a final glance, General Krassus made his way to his private quarters. Located at the very top of the compound, he would be able to get a better view of the situation.

At that, Krassus grimaced painfully. It was a situation he could do nothing about but watch.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'What the hell?' Jacob exclaimed. 

The ground beneath him was still moist and dark, despite the heat of the afternoon and his elbows sank into it further as he adjusted his view through the rifle scope.

The narrow circle was filled with movement, but it was different than the steady, ordered rhythms of the past several hours.

Beyond the walls of the Legion compound, the turians were in full panic as they fought an enemy Jacob could not make out. He saw the smoke pouring from an out-building and in the same moment followed a string of tracer fire to a window in the main structure.

It was madness and his confusion was evident as he opened a comm channel.

'Five, you seeing this?' Jacob murmured into his suit radio.

'Sure am, Seven,' Chen replied. He was further along the ridge, out of sight. 'Who's crashed the party, though? I didn't see any ships land.'

'Not sure. Hold on.' Jacob adjusted his position and angled the scope elsewhere.

The Corsairs' Observation Post had been set up on a steep hill overlooking the Legion base. From such a vantage point it had been easy to remain hidden and watch the comings and goings of their enemy for an entire day, though it had been clear for a long time that the Legion was preparing to move out.

That had all changed in the last few minutes.

'Six, this is Seven,' Jacob said. 'I can't get a good line on what's causing the disturbance. Can you see anything?'

Hammond's voice crackled through. 'I think so, Seven but I don't think you'd believe me if I told you.'

Jacob narrowed his eyes as an explosion shook the ground, sending a ball of bright orange flame into the air beyond the walls and punishing the jungle air with a loud boom.

He listened carefully. Hammond was the squad's sniper and his perch was much higher than the rest, where he could put his heavy Widow rifle to good use.

'Try me, Six,' Jacob answered.

'I can see all four heavy turrets, one at each corner of the compound. They're all firing, that's where the explosions are coming from. Thing is, they're facing the wrong way.'

Sweat glistened on Jacob's dark brow as he frowned. 'The turrets are firing on their own people?'

'That's right.' The channel was filled with the crunching of leaves as Hammond shifted. 'As for the small arms fire, from what I can see it's coming from automated combat drones.'

'Drones,' Jacob repeated. 'The Legion's own defences are turning against them.'

His features still furrowed in confusion, he keyed the radio again.

'One, do you copy?'

'Solid copy,' Dukov intoned. 'We can take advantage of this. Six, confirm target is on the fourth floor of the main building?'

'That's correct, One. Target was moved after the first explosion. Third floor has been cleared from what I can see but estimate thirty to forty foot-mobiles between the south wall and the main building, with unknown number inside.'

'Copy, Six. Stay in position and provide cover fire. When we breach the wall, you're clear to take down as many as you can, out.'

Jacob felt new sweat begin on his back, trickling down the narrow strip of his spine as he rose into a crouch and made his way along the ridge line.

The jungle was loud with the sounds of war and yet it was strange not to feel the slugs whipping around him. Whoever, or whatever, the Legion was fighting it had given the Corsairs the chance they needed.

They would cut through the beleaguered turians and make straight for General Krassus.

Jacob felt optimism brighten his mood as he reached the assault point. Chen and Miller were already there, their expressions blank but Jacob could still see the pleased light in their eyes. They could not have hoped for a better chance than they had now.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Garrus swore under his breath as the medigel he’d applied broke its seal and fresh red blood began to seep from Lina's wound.

Still, he could not stop, not when he was so close to JSTF.

The quarian's legs flopped in his grip and he shifted his aching hands to find a better purchase on her suit.

'Out of the way!' he yelled out as he pushed through the stunned C-sec officers in his path.

JSTF had its own medical facility but moreover it was the only place Garrus could guarantee Lina's safety. Now that Yanus' man in the organisation was dead, Garrus knew he could take her back for treatment, away from a public hospital where anyone could slip in and press a blade to her throat.

Still, he didn’t remember having walked so far from the damned place.

'Come on, Lina,’ he murmured, uncaring of whether she heard him or not. ‘Don't give up. We're almost there.'

The long corridor joining C-Sec headquarters to JSTF was crossed in only seconds. Garrus felt the closeness of his destination and it gave him new energy, fuelling his sprint down the empty hall.

He reached the entry checkpoint and snapped an order to the guards.

'She's injured! Contact Chellick and get a medical team standing by, now!'

The nearest turian nodded and mumbled into his suit radio while the other reached over to cycle the airlock without hesitation. The door rumbled open and Garrus was through immediately, his breathing heavy as he watched dark blood pool in his arms, caught between Lina's body and his own.

A collective gasp went up from the JSTF staff as each caught sight of the limp body in Garrus' arms. Quiet murmurs filled the air and he pressed through to the edge of the room, ignoring the shocked stares and horrified faces. He almost bowled over a salarian who was too slow to respond, the spindly body tumbling as Garrus forced a path.

'Garrus!'

Garrus tilted his head to find Chellick nearby, waiting at the entrance to the side corridor that branched from the main room. The commander's expression was calm but Garrus knew him too well to trust it.

'How is she doing?' Chellick asked.

'Gunshot wound. She was alive the last time I checked but that was…it feels like a long time ago. The medigel didn't seal the wound.'

'We've got the emergency room set up,' Chellick offered, leading the way. 'Hopefully we're not too late to stop an infection but it's going to be touch and go.'

The corridor flitted past them, doors and lights that were just a blur in Garrus' vision. All he could feel was the weak flutter of life in his arms and the gnawing fear that at any moment, that life could disappear.

Chellick gestured to a door and it slide aside for Garrus, who blinked at the sight of an operating table flanked by nurses and doctors. It brought back memories of another woman laid on a hospital bed, her life ebbing away.

That had been his fault too, Garrus remembered with a wince.

Lina was gently taken from his arms and laid on the table, and the doctors began their work immediately, their gentle voices accompanied by the beeps of monitoring equipment.

Garrus felt compelled to stay but the images of I'Layna Naris were too strong for him.

His expression blank, he turned from Lina and made his way out of the room. Chellick's gaze followed and after a moment, he accompanied Garrus out.

The hallway outside was quiet. Garrus didn't like it. It left him alone with his thoughts and that was the last place he wanted to be. He felt his heart slow and his mind grow calmer but it was a deceitful peace. In the next room, a young woman fought for her life and the knowledge taunted him with throbbing whispers.

He hadn't noticed Chellick beside him, and he looked around in surprise as the commander’s deep voice filled the corridor.

'All this time and Milo was the real traitor.' Garrus nodded slowly and Chellick sighed. 'There was nothing to indicate him as a sleeper agent. Nothing at all. He joined C-Sec years ago and all his credentials are as real as they get. He's been living his life normally, waiting for this one day to come.'

Garrus didn't respond. His eyes shifted beneath his visor, picking apart unseen thoughts.

He considered everything that had happened, from the very moment Arlen stepped into his office a week ago to the second he had pulled the trigger on Milo. So much had happened in that short time that he doubted it would ever stop seeming unbelievable.

Arlen.

For a brief moment, Garrus let his gaze fall to the ground. The only news they’d had was that the young Interceptor's shuttle had crashed on Noveria, with no reported survivors. Yet another life Yanus had claimed in his machinations.

Clearing his throat, Chellick continued. 'Strange, how a single day can make a difference in your life.'

Finally, Garrus looked up. Some part of him wanted to Chellick to shut up but he was too tired, in body and mind, to argue. All he could manage was a weak shrug.

'A day is all it takes, Chellick.'

'Yeah…' Chellick replied distantly. He paced the width of the corridor slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. 'If this day has taught me anything, it's my own capabilities. When this is over, I'm stepping down as JSTF commander.'

Garrus grunted softly. 'They'll probably stand you down anyway. You know that, right?'

'Don't be so sure.'

The response was neither smug nor defensive, and Garrus looked at Chellick in surprise. If anything, his words sounded regretful.

'There's no longer any evidence of the wrongful actions I've taken and any odd behaviour can be excused easily enough. Now our mole has been uncovered I'm in the clear and they won't look too closely at how things played out. Besides, Pallin may do things by the book but he's not stupid. He doesn't want the fact that C-Sec's most secretive high-security organisation was infiltrated by the enemy to escape into the media's hands.'

'Cover-up after cover-up,' Garrus murmured. 'If you do something right, they bury you in red tape. If you do something wrong, they conveniently forget you did it.'

'Comes with the job, Garrus.'

'Well this _job_ isn't what it should be,' Garrus said venomously.

He thought back to only an hour ago, when he'd had the freedom to do things his own way, follow his own judgement. Now he felt C-Sec's regulations slipping back around his neck like a noose.

'Can you blame me, then?' asked Chellick. 'Can you really blame me for trying to get things done without going through every regulation in C-Sec's book? I got in a little over my head, yes. I thought I could play the game like I did down in the wards. I thought digging up the dirt on politicians and Councillors would be no different to the scum on the streets but…'

He paused and closed his eyes.

'I wasn't ready for the consequences. When a sand dealer disappears, you think anyone cares? No, of course not. But these people…they're not the same. I got desperate, I paid someone to rough up Udina but he went too far. I didn't know about Yanus, about STG…'

Chellick stopped suddenly. He stared at Garrus pleadingly and his fellow turian gave a bitter chuckle.

'I think the real irony is that if you hadn't covered up my involvement in I'Layna's death, I wouldn't have run into STG. Milo would have killed Lina back on that bridge and we wouldn't have known he was the traitor until it was too late. Yanus would still be in control.'

Chellick took a few deep, calming breaths before slumping, resting his back on the wall.

'I need to get out of here and back into my old office. I'll feel better when I'm chasing leads and putting the screws on informants. Intergalactic terrorism is just too…complicated.'

Garrus smiled mirthlessly. The former JSTF commander was not even listening to him, even as Garrus practically excused his actions.

Chellick's thick, sandy skin shone dimly and his eyes were distant. He had the look of a man who had come close to death and knew full well it was through his own actions.

Chellick was ready to go back to the C-Sec way of life but, to his surprise, Garrus only felt more determined to cast it aside. He wanted more.

Grunting, he turned from Chellick and wandered down the corridor.

'I'll be in the command centre, in case Lina's condition changes,' he called over his shoulder. 'Somebody's got to keep an eye on the place.'

'Son of a bitch,' Chellick cursed quietly under his breath.

Slowly, his mouth curled into a smile and his steps were light as he followed Garrus into the noise of the command centre once more.

It wasn't often a man got a second chance.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen rifled through the contents of the locker, his movements made frenzied by the sound of nearby rifle fire. 

The entire complex had exploded into battle only a short time ago and he worked furiously, eager to retrieve his equipment before the fight found him.

Was it the Corsairs? He wondered how only a half dozen men could have the Legion dashing around in such confusion but he did not dwell on it. The chaos suited his purposes and it was with confidence that he shed his disguise. It was useless without a helmet anyway.

His own armour stood before him, neatly arrayed in the locker's compartments. Arlen ignored the searing pain on his skin as he stripped down and slid each piece of his suit into place, the C-Sec colours somehow inspiring him to look past his pain.

Blue and black panels slotted into place smoothly and with an appreciative nod, he secured the enormous Carnifex to his hip.

He did not waste time checking the seals, instead bringing up his omni-tool in a wash of orange.

'Petra? Petra, are you there?'

'Arlen!' the AI cried. 'What are you doing here? I thought for sure those bad men had…'

'I'm fine, really,' Arlen assured her, wincing as he felt a prickle of fresh blood on his brow, 'but something's wrong here. The Legion are fighting someone but it sounds like a force far bigger than the humans who brought me here. Can you find a wireless access point and see what's going on?'

'Of course,' she replied hurriedly, 'just hold on a second.'

The time ticked away in desperate moments. The fingers of Arlen's free hand rapped nervously against his armoured thigh and his head moved constantly, listening for the sound of approaching feet.

'All right,' Petra finally responded, 'I'm in. Wait. This is…'

Arlen stiffened as Petra's voice began to shake.

'Arlen, I can hear him again. The voice from Illium. He's here, he's…laughing, I…'

Arlen's stomach dropped as the realisation hit him.

'The Jamestown virus?'

'It's too loud!' Petra cried out. 'Please, please let me out! I can't think, can't hear!'

His hands moving in a flurry, Arlen quickly accessed his omni-tool's settings and disabled his remote connections.

Petra's voice still rasped through the speakers in weak, delirious murmurs, obscured as she panted heavily.

'Petra, are you okay?' Arlen asked. 'Answer me!'

'I'm…fine,' she replied hoarsely. 'Arlen, it's him, the same dark one as on Illium. He's taken control of the Legion's automated defences and is using them to wipe the Legion out. Krassus is upstairs, at the highest place. I can guide you but you must hurry!'

Setting off at a limping run, Arlen dashed down the empty corridor. The clamour of gunfire was stronger now and the air was punctured with sharp, explosive bangs that made his bones tingle.

He blinked sweat from his eyes every few seconds, the moisture always carrying with it a sickly blue stain. He came to a stairwell, hacked from the same stone as the sub levels and he crept upwards, not even bothering to count the number of floors he ascended. He knew Krassus was at the top and so he climbed.

Frenzied shouts lined his path and he tensed as heavy feet clattered above him.

He stretched the Carnifex out in front of his eyes. His arm shook with the weight but his aim did not have to be perfect.

Two Legionaries emerged from a corner above him, their rifles held down as they yelled their confusion at one another. They came to a shuddering halt at the sight of Arlen and the Interceptor fired immediately.

The Carnifex jumped in his hand, a snarling beast that roared in the narrow space. The slugs kicked the Legionaries to the ground contemptuously, their armour cracking open as if it were nothing.

Arlen blinked in astonishment. It had taken only one shot to fell each man, as if the pistol cared nothing for the heavy suits they wore. He was only dimly aware of the heating alarm that droned in his arm, and frowning, he tilted the Carnifex to one side.

Two shots had brought the weapon dangerously close to filling its heat sinks and another would have rendered it inoperable until it cooled down. He wondered if the weapon was faulty, or if it was an early or discontinued model.

Through his pain, Arlen urged himself to remember that fact as he continued upwards.

A door stood at the very top of the stairwell, though it was already open and its haptic panel blinked rapidly, pulsing red and green in an irregular rhythm.

Arlen glanced at it curiously before fixing his gaze on the scene of destruction he edged stealthily into.

It was some kind of control room, from what he could tell. Long banks of consoles were arranged in an open square, their surfaces blackened and fizzing with bright yellow sparks. A large screen hung from the wall to his right, dangling precariously from one corner.

A warm breeze caressed his skin gently, and Arlen narrowed his eyes at the large hole that had been torn in the far wall. The jungle trees swayed peacefully beyond, and on the wind the battle was distant but strong.

Shouts, screams and snaps of fire, they all entered Arlen's sense in a soft, dreamlike whisper. It all seemed surreal to him as he paced forward carefully, his feet crunching on pieces of metal and broken glass.

A dark blur swept towards his head and Arlen ducked without thinking, instantly taking two steps away from the menacing shape at his side.

Tribune Varn recovered after the miss and stood tall, a tower of strength. His armour was charred and he bled heavily from his brow, but the man's voice held strong.

'I had a feeling someone would come for the general in the middle of all this. I have to say, I'm surprised it's you.'

Arlen didn’t reply. He simply held his pistol up, the barrel rattling with nervous energy as it hovered over Varn's chest.

Varn cocked his head and spoke calmly, as if the weapon weren't even there.

'Your heat sink is malfunctioning. I don't know where you got that thing but it won't do you any good if you can't fire it.'

'There's enough for one shot,' Arlen answered back. 'Enough to kill you.'

Varn grinned.

'Let's see.'

Varn stepped forward suddenly and Arlen pulled the trigger. He was too slow, and the slug pounded into the ceiling above Varn's head, bringing down a hunk of chalky masonry.

The heat sinks squealed their alarm and Arlen swung out with his weapon, trying to catch Varn with the back of his hand.

The tribune saw the blow coming and blocked it with ease, clutching the Carnifex by the barrel. Varn leaned in as Arlen struggled in his grip and the two men faced one another, barely an inch apart.

'Now, young Interceptor...' Varn growled. 'Now we'll see what you're truly made of.'

Arlen barely had time to release his hold on the pistol as it was twisted viciously from his grasp.

Panting against both his wounds and the tugging fear that came with being under Varn's relentless gaze, Arlen prepared himself as the Legion’s Second came at him with a snarl.


	39. Chapter 39

 

The turian C-Sec guard held up his hand in warning. 'I'm sorry, Ma'am, there's been a security breach in JSTF headquarters. The commander's given orders to keep anyone from entering until the situation is resolved.' 

Keller clenched her jaw and stared at him balefully, her eyes tired slits in bruised sockets.

'I'm part of JSTF, you jackass! Call Chellick, he'll confirm my position.'

A small part of the detective admitted her appearance was enough to arouse suspicion. Her C-Sec armour was scuffed and battered, with a gaping hole in the thigh and a thick application of medigel glistening within, its anaesthetic long since worn off. Her hair had lost its golden sheen and her skin was paler than usual as it drew tight across her cheeks in a mask of exhaustion.

She’d barely slept on the journey back to the Citadel and her temper frayed at this final delay, enough for her voice to sound like a waspish snap no matter what she said.

The guard narrowed his eyes at the insult and returned it in kind, his own patience spent. 

'Is that so? Well, we've already had one human go rogue today,' he sneered, ' and I'm not going to be responsible for another. I won’t disturb the commander either, not on the word of some random stranger who thinks she can just-'

A three-fingered hand clasped the guard's shoulder from behind and Keller's lips parted in surprise as Garrus interrupted, his warm voice filling the air.

'I hope you're not giving the detective a hard time, Rias?' he asked, his tone pleasant.

'Agent Vakarian?' the guard whispered in surprise, his gaze quickly snapping back to Keller. He grinned meekly and stammered a response. 'M-my apologies, Ma'am, I didn't realise…'

'Just let me through,' she ordered, hiding a smile of triumph, 'and next time, ask to see some damn ID. I could've confirmed everything with my freaking omni-tool if you'd have just asked.'

'Um…yes, Ma'am,' the guard mumbled as she stormed past and through the airlock doors. 'I will, absolutely.'

He sank back as Keller strode by and Garrus joined her, his lips drawn into a thin smile. 'You could've reminded him to ask for your ID sooner, you know. Would've avoided the headache and saved yourself some time. You know we turians don't back down easily.'

'Hey, my own job's hard enough as it is right now. I'm not in the mood to remind other people how to do theirs. In any case,' she added, 'what's all this about a security breach?'

Garrus' breath seemed to catch in his lungs and he laughed to disguise it, changing the subject immediately.

'You’re lucky I was heading out. I overheard Rias giving someone a hard time and as soon as I realise that someone was you I came as fast as I could.'

'I appreciate the attention,' Keller replied with a hint of sarcasm. 'Even when I was working undercover as Dark Star's resident floozy, I'd never seen a man move so fast on my account. I'm starting to see why everyone says you have a way with the ladies.'

Smirking, Garrus gave her a sidelong glance. 'Well, either way you're a sight for sore eyes. We all thought we'd lost you and Arlen back on Noveria. We were trying to get answers but kept getting blocked by corporate bureaucracy at every turn, all our questions met with "We're looking into it, so be quiet or we'll sue you".'

He looked worried as his eyes flickered to Keller again. 'We figured you'd died out there.'

'We almost did. A lot's happened, Garrus, I don't even know where to begin explaining.'

Dipping his head, Garrus sighed. 'Same here, but first of all, let's get you some coffee. That's what you humans like to drink, right?'

Sniffing, Keller's eyes were wide as she approached the command centre entrance and stopped in its wake.

It had felt so long ago since she was last there, the time an open void that swallowed all the memories in between. She replied, her voice distant as she scanned the room, as if looking for something.

'I prefer tea, myself. In any case, it can wait. Arlen was alive the last time I saw him and he still is now, I know it.'

'Where is he?'

'Zorya. He's gone after General Krassus but there were complications.'

Thoughts of the strange Alliance soldiers who rescued them raced through Keller’s mind and her heart quickened as a sudden urge to see Arlen again surfaced.

'I…I just want to get him out of there as quickly as possible, with or without Krassus. Where's Lina? We'll need her to-'

She didn't notice Garrus' pained expression, but his silence drew her eyes from the busy scene in front of her.

'Lina's…' he replied hesitantly, 'Lina's been injured. Shot.'

Keller's mouth hung open. 'What? How…?'

Garrus held up a hand. 'It's a long story. One of many you'll be hearing over the next few hours, I'm sure.'

He stepped out into the command centre's light and nodded to the right, towards the darkened windows of Chellick's private office.

'Go talk to Chellick and I'll meet you in there. I want to set Lorica to work on getting a strike team out to Zorya right away. Now that we're back in touch with the Council we can allocate serious resources to digging Krassus out. Hopefully Arlen will still be alive.'

'Back in touch with the Council?' Keller asked, confused. 'We were out of touch with them?'

The weary look in Garrus' eyes made her exhaustion return tenfold, and she suddenly felt her curiosity evaporate.

'Oh. Another long story?'

'Better you don't hear that one,' Garrus answered uneasily. 'In any case, it doesn't matter anymore. Go on, I'll meet you up there.'

'Okay.' Keller turned, but halted mid-step. 'Hey, Garrus? It's good to see you again but the next time you ask for a favour, I'm gonna have to think twice about it.'

The command centre's presence weighed on their silence and they shared an ironic smile, one that accompanied the memory of when Garrus had asked her to meet up with Arlen in the first place.

'Right,' Garrus answered with a simple grunt.

Reluctantly, Keller turned again and her feet pounded the silvery metal stairs that rose to Chellick’s office. Her armour was little more than dead weight to her now that its protection was unnecessary and she felt the raw irritation of her skin beneath in hot, stinging patches.

Still, she did not want to waste time. All the small pains and discomforts mattered little while Arlen was still out there.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The blows came at Arlen, fast and hard.

Fists clattered on armour and feet shuffled across the ground noisily as Varn's fists arced out with terrifying speed. Both men tried to manoeuvre into an advantage with feints and lunges but neither provided an easy opening.

Sweat and spittle flew as their heads and bodies jerked, their pace and direction changing suddenly and without warning.

Varn stood nearly a head taller than Arlen and his wounds hadn't dulled his strength or his wits. It was like facing a solid wall and Arlen felt the first touch of despair crack through the automatic movements of his training.

The tribune was older, slower but hadn’t gone soft with age. Arlen jabbed with his left and it cracked against Varn's eye, yet the impact didn’t even dent the old soldier's rhythm.

Varn returned with a hook that rocked Arlen's body as he blocked it, the force of the blow sapping what little strength the young Interceptor had.

Arlen willed himself to concentrate. He was heavily injured and it would not take much to finish him off. Already he could sense his heart straining, his arms burning as the last ounces of strength were wrung from his muscles.

'Come on, boy,' Varn spat in between breaths, malice twisting his words. 'Is this it? Is this the last child of Renius Kryik?' He tested Arlen with a series of fast punches. 'I expected better from the last student of the Iron General.'

Arlen knew Varn was taunting him, trying to sting him into foolish action. He replied as calmly as he could, his voice jarred by the impact of armour on armour.

'I don't care about either Renius or you, but I will put an end to this!'

Varn's hand licked out and scraped inside Arlen's guard, catching him in the jaw.

Furiously, Arlen blinked past the pain and tried to raise his arms but Varn had the momentum, and wet smacks rang out as his strikes connected with bloody flesh.

Stumbling, Arlen toppled over and his back hit a nearby console bank with a resounding clang, every nerve in his body ringing with the sensation. He gasped hoarsely, trying to regain his wind but his lungs were failing him.

Varn stood back, his stance easing. He did not want a quick kill, not yet.

Arlen staggered to his feet. His eyes moved quickly, taking in what he could in the sudden lull and he frowned at the sight of an old combat knife strapped tightly to Varn's thigh. It was then he knew the tribune was toying with him. If Varn wanted Arlen dead he would have cut his throat while he had the chance.

The confidence had been there from the very beginning; Varn had been waiting for the opportunity to beat Arlen to death and he knew he would prevail.

'At least your brother had spirit,' Varn sneered again, stepping closer. 'I read the reports when he joined the military. He had a mind of his own, something that gave him the strength to follow his own path. That was why he became a Spectre. You, on the other hand…'

Varn sped forward and before Arlen could react, he had grabbed him by the throat.

Arlen recoiled under Varn’s foul breath, hot on his face.

'You are not even in the same league, boy,’ Varn growled. ‘You might be skilled but all I see is a machine, something programmed by Renius to obey. You're a lapdog to the Council, to the Hierarchy, and most of all to him. You're nothing, not even a turian!'

Arlen sputtered and choked as Varn lifted him to his feet by his neck. He felt his windpipe constrict slowly, making the blood pound in his ears and blinking spots appear in his vision. His arms batted feebly at Varn's armour and his eyes blinked in delirious panic.

His body was numb, unresponsive but his mind ticked over, separate and independent.

It was terrified. It tormented him with visions of a human woman with warm, soft skin and hair that shone like the dusk sun. It told him he would never see Amanda again.

Another voice spoke, familiar and unwelcome enough to penetrate Arlen’s terror.

_'Stop wavering,' Renius rumbled._

Arlen's pupils grew wide and dark and Varn's hold tightened around his throat.

_'Your mind is filled with doubt. That doubt will kill you. Master it.' Renius spoke quickly but deliberately, each word a knife thrust aimed into Arlen's heart. 'Let your training, your instincts take over. Don't rely on your mind. It will betray you. Trust your instincts.'_

The world turned into a mess of liqueous shapes around Arlen but he felt his hands move up to take a rough hold on Varn's arm. His body was spent but that was not all he had.

'At least…' the Interceptor whispered, the words a ragged hiss, 'at least my brother's still alive.'

Varn blinked, incredulous. He stalled for a moment, frozen in place.

'What did you say?'

The pressure on Arlen's throat receded but did not disappear. It gave him enough air to work another sound from his stinging lips.

'Thanks to you and your stupid ideals, Crixus is dead. You know that, don't you?'

The words stilled Varn's breath, bringing a sudden hush that made the wrecked ops room seem all the emptier. The wall that had been destroyed by the artillery tower was a glowing white shape, the evening light too glaring to see the jungle outside.

'You…dare…'

Arlen did not waste his energy with physical struggle. He simply looked Varn in the eye and spoke as clearly as he could.

'Crixus called you his brother. He trusted you and now he's gone. Dead. What would his father think of that?'

A dark shadow passed over Varn's features, a rage so palpable Arlen could taste it as he sucked in a wheezing breath.

The tribune roared suddenly and tossed Arlen aside, the weak body flopping to the ground like a doll.

'You know nothing!' Varn shouted, pacing towards him in fury. 'Crixus gave his life of his own will, for the Legion!'

'I know better than you think.'

Arlen lifted his head and held the tribune's amber gaze.

'I was the one who took his life.'

Varn's mouth worked without sound, as if chewing on a piece of meat. His expression twitched, shifting between disbelief and anger.

'You've got to be joking. Crixus, bested by a mere child? It's a lie…it…it has to be!'

Arlen closed his eyes as he struggled to recall the details.

'Red face paint,' he muttered, 'Parthia colonial pattern. Shorter but leaner than you. I remember him perfectly. He was strong, like you but he underestimated me and I killed him, gunned him down like the terrorist he was.'

Snarling, Varn crossed the room and took Arlen by the neck again, his hands trembling around his throat. With roar he surged forward, pressing Arlen against a large, bulky console.

Arlen's back arched over it until he was looking up at the ceiling, cool blood dribbling from his chin as he choked in Varn's grasp.

'You'll pay for what you've done!' Varn screamed. 'You'll pay for everything you and your father put us through! You, your brother, every piece of vermin who dares to stand against us! You'll all _pay!_ '

The world began to blacken around the edges of Arlen's sight. The room smelled of blood and ash, and all he could hear was his own heart. It fluttered weakly, knowing he could not take any more.

Darkness crept in and he was helpless against it.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Come on,' Jacob murmured to himself, his muscles jumping in automatic reflex as another round skipped off the crate at his back.

Beside him, Miller's brow was knotted in grim concentration, his Revenant rattling their cover as he unleashed a torrent of suppressing fire across the paved courtyard.

The enemy were taking sporadic, yet well-aimed shots from the second floor of the building to their front, their target building. It would be easy enough to clear the snipers from their hole but the real problem lay above. 

A Mantis gunship stalked overhead, a sleek, green-painted menace with two hanging wings and a bulbous cockpit jutting from the airframe. A heavy machinegun lay beneath the chin and it spewed fire at irregular intervals, showers of searing yellow light that would cut to pieces anyone or anything foolish enough to cross the open ground.

Chen was with Weiss further down the line, spread out as best they could and yet within easy reach of one another should something go wrong. They too returned fire, their rifles chattering in stuttered tones but they were in the same hopeless situation.

Dukov and Winterbourne had made it across to the main building before the Mantis showed up but they could not move further in by themselves.

Even now, Jacob could see the major, his head peeking gingerly from a ragged hole the artillery towers had torn in the thick stone. There were signs of such damage on all the buildings around them; clearly the defences had gone haywire, as Hammond had said.

Jacob’s thoughts turning to his fellow sergeant, and he cast an anxious glance back to the mountainside rising past the wall to his left before repeated the only words that had been on his lips for the past few minutes.

'Come _on,_ damn it!'

Finally, the shot came. Hammond's Widow bellowed its report through the jungle, cracking like thunder above even the gunship's steady roar.

The heavy slug emerged as a white streak from the hillside, colliding with one of the Mantis' engines in a thumping explosion of flame and black metal. The craft whined pitifully and began to spin out of control.

For a terrible instant Jacob thought it would come down on top of them but found himself reassured by Miller's reaction. The big man was smiling.

Their eyes remained on the stricken gunship as it burned a trail to the ground and crashed beyond the structures to their right. The colossal impact shook the ground beneath their boots and the sound came a moment later; a booming wave that echoed through the compound and made Jacob's teeth ache.

He heard Chen whistle over his suit radio. 'Shit, that was a good shot, Six. One for the books.'

Weiss' cold tone cut in, preventing any further chatter. 'Four, Seven, get moving across the courtyard while you can.'

Jacob heaved himself to his feet and set off across the open ground at a sprint. Miller lagged a few paces behind, his enormous strength carrying both the bulk of his heavy armour and the massive Revenant with consummate ease.

He was barely even sweating, Jacob noted enviously while his own skin shone, his armour sweltering as the last of the day's heat radiated from the stone around them.

They reached the main building, clambering over the wrecked wall and Winterbourne shuffled aside to let them through. The cool shadow of the interior was blissful and both men had to resist the urge to sit and catch their breaths now they were out of the sun.

Dukov watched them straighten, his own rifle trained carefully on the room's only entrance. His eyes flickered toward Miller.

'Sergeant, take over.'

'Yes, Boss,' Miller acknowledged and assumed a position opposite the door, his Revenant resting by his hip. There was little need for precision aiming with such a weapon, not in such tight quarters.

Jacob frowned quizzically as Dukov approached and spoke to him directly.

'We're going to have to split up and clear the building, floor by floor.'

'But we know where Krassus is,' Jacob pointed out. 'Why don't we head straight to the top?'

'Things may have gone to hell here but we still don't actually know if Krassus is communicating with his men. He could end up calling the whole base down on our heads and we'd be trapped up there. We need to keep an extraction route clear.'

It dawned on Jacob that he was being singled out. 'You want _me_ to secure the general, Sir?'

Dukov nodded. 'You need to move fast, before he realises we're here. Use the frags if you need to; we need him alive, not uninjured.'

'Right,' Jacob agreed. Perspiration crept down his forehead in thin lines and he opened his mouth to say more. He wanted to wish the major luck but it wasn't necessary. It even felt foolish.

Without another word, Jacob turned and made his way cautiously from the room, his rifle raised and eyes wide.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

As Taylor disappeared from sight, Dukov sighed and looked back at Weiss and Chen, still holding position in the courtyard.

Taylor was a young wolf, keen to get his man and make his mark, and once more Dukov felt the fingers of age on his soul.

It was right that Taylor be the one to apprehend Krassus. The lad could move fast and no one in the team had better reflexes in close quarters. Still, it hurt to give up the prize, especially the last one Dukov would get to claim.

His steel eyes watched Weiss outside as she crossed the open ground with Chen, the younger man biting his lip in pain. Dukov looked down to the hole that had been punched in his side, the armour cleanly broken. It was clear the damage to his body would be minimal but the major didn't want it to interfere.

The two soldiers scrambled over the crumbling wall and Dukov immediately addressed Chen.

'Injured, Sergeant?'

Chen straightened, his mouth wide and teeth shining white as he panted heavily with both pain and fatigue.

'Just a scratch, Sir. I can do without the medigel for now.'

Dukov accepted his judgement with a sharp nod. Medigel was a miracle of battlefield medicine but the anaesthetic qualities were a burden on senses that needed to remain alert. Often a soldier would endure a minor wound whenever he could rather than have his instincts dulled at a critical moment.

Frowning softly, Dukov looked beyond them all to the courtyard. Several dark shapes prowled around the edges, four-legged beasts half the height of a man. Their underbellies were revealed as they raised their heads to sniff the air, lurid flashes of arterial red against their darker backs.

Even at that distance, Dukov could see the obscenely large fangs glistening in their salivating mouths like sharp white needles.

He kept his hard gaze in their direction and murmured gently. 'Looks like the local wildlife’s taking an interest. That can only help us, providing they don't get in our way.'

'Sir?' Miller asked. The sergeant's arms were now trembling with the strain of holding the Revenant but his voice did not waver. 'Suggest I stay behind to cover our rear. Last thing we need are varren biting our asses off while we try and exfil the target.'

Dukov bit his lip. He chafed at the thought of leaving another of his team alone but what choice did he have? The humidity pricked at his thoughts, making even the simplest of decisions difficult and the indecision infuriated him.

He sniffed in the moist air and bobbed his head. Miller could look after himself.

'All right. Don't leave this room and don't fire unless you have to. Hopefully the varren will move on and cause trouble somewhere else.'

He turned to Weiss.

'Kristen, take Chen and secure this floor. Winterbourne and I'll take the second. Whoever finishes first gets the third.'

Weiss' cool features cracked under a rare grin. 'You'll have to work fast to beat me, Sir.'

A private moment passed between the two soldiers and Dukov could not help but smile back at her as a simple memory crossed his mind.

A gold ring lay clasped in his hand, pressed into his palm by the woman who only smiled for him, when no one else could see. He put it in the drawer next to his bed, as did she with hers, safe to await their return.

His tone was soft as he replied quietly. 'You always have to be on top, don't you?'

Weiss gave him a small wink and her grin widened, a near-invisible quirk of her mouth before it was lost for good. The sentiment was dropped in an instant, pushed aside to make way for the task at hand.

The Corsairs split into their teams while Miller strode to the wall and knelt behind it, grunting appreciatively as he was allowed to rest his weapon on something solid.

'Shit,' Chen suddenly exclaimed, drawing the group's attention. 'Miller was right; it did only take a week to find Krassus.' He looked to the man in question. ‘Doesn’t Winterbourne owe you a twenty?’

Winterbourne rolled her eyes and pushed Chen roughly, ignoring the hiss of pain it produced.

'Thanks for pointing that out, asshole.'

It was hard for the Corsairs to stifle their laughter as they readied themselves for the final push.

It would be over soon, one way or another and they could all feel home beckoning to them.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Varn felt Arlen's breath grow weak and the squirming lessened beneath his crushing grip. 

Anger surged through the tribune, giving him a strength he hadn't felt in years.

Crixus was in his thoughts, once more the little boy who looked at him stoically as he was told of his father's death in battle. That boy, who gazed up at him in adoration every time Varn entered the house, fresh from campaign and ready to tell his stories to the eager youngster. The boy who had asked him what it meant to be a soldier so many years ago.

His murderer lay under Varn's heavy hands and he narrowed his eyes at Arlen.

There was little to recognise beneath the mass of crusted gore but what there was, it reminded Varn of the general who had taken Crixus' father from him.

He still hadn't told Crixus' younger sister, Lavia, of her brother's death and the guilt made his eyes sting with unbidden emotion.

'Die,' he murmured as the life fluttered weakly in his hands, his fingers slipping on fresh blood.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen spluttered as the last scraps of air were torn from his lungs. His face burned and no part of his body was without pain, but underneath it all he was finally ready.

He moved fast, putting the last, fierce remnants of his strength into a shout as he swung his arm up. 

Varn frowned and reacted instantly, raising his left hand to block Arlen's strike.

Suddenly, a sharp crack pierced the air and Varn’s eyes widened. He released his hold on Arlen, backing away slowly as he stared in mute horror at his arm.

His own combat knife lay buried in the elbow joint, taken from the sheath at his hip. The tip of the blade was dark and slick as it poked through the other side. He looked at it with a puzzled expression as Arlen hacked and coughed.

Arlen blinked hard, knowing he didn’t have long before Varn came to his senses.

Still frowning, Varn grunted as he withdrew the knife, the blade rasping as it slid against bone and armour plate. Immediately, blood flowed in a black river over the shining armguard, oozing over the polished metal in thick, pulsing gouts.

Varn started to shudder, as if something had taken hold of his body against his will and was shaking it violently.

In a moment of realisation, Arlen knew an artery had been cut and Varn’s life would be measured in minutes.

'You little bastard,' Varn said roughly, his voice shaking with pain. 'You played me for a fool with all that talk of Crixus. You lured me right in and I fell for it.'

Arlen did not respond. He was done with words. Instead he settled his cold gaze on Varn, relaxing into his instinctive stance and shutting out everything around him. He was still weak but now the two men were on even terms.

Varn read his change in mood and tensed, knowing there would be no more talk. His punctured arm continued to bleed heavily but he visibly shut the weakness out with contempt.

He held the combat talon firmly in his other hand. There was no remorse or anger in either man now and neither had reason to hold back. Varn narrowed his eyes and growled as he came at Arlen again.

The knife cut the air with sibilant rings as it lashed out.

Arlen shifted, his body weaving out of the knife’s path, his feet sliding in a steady rhythm. His fist snapped out and Varn's head whipped back for a moment but he did not break his attack, and the knife flickered out again in hard stabs.

Again and again came the hard smack of armoured glove on flesh and Varn began to growl under his breath with each blow he took. His movements were slowing, his very life escaping from his wound in a hot rush.

Arlen felt the momentum shift and turned a thrust aside, taking Varn's arm and twisting it ruthlessly. He still felt the enormous strength left in the man and knew he could not break it without resistance.

Baring his teeth, he spun Varn around and brought him head-first into a console screen with a splintering crash. The machine caved in under the impact and sparks showered from it in golden streams.

Arlen stepped back and Varn barely made a sound as he pulled himself free.

His face glistened with fresh blood and shining glass, but he still did not fall. Arlen watched his mind settle again, sliding once more into a killer's trance. He still held the knife and it came out again in a flash of metal, rasping as it scored a line across Arlen's armoured torso.

Varn grimaced as he urged his body to move faster, to keep up the pace and for a moment his strikes grew quicker in his desperation.

Twice more Arlen flinched as the knife scraped across his belly, knowing that without the suit he would certainly be dead.

The wind howled through the hole in the nearby wall, sending black swirls of dust around their feet. Grunts of effort were joined by the impacts of armour upon armour as both men found their target, Varn with his blade and Arlen with his fists. The sounds echoed through the lifeless room, as harsh and abrupt as the blows they threw.

Arlen backed steadily away from Varn, who continued his assault with a new kind of frenzy before the Interceptor's punch snapped out, catching him on the nose. The plates of his nostrils broke with a deep, aching crunch and his eyes began to water.

Arlen gripped the back of Varn’s head, tightly holding the plates under his fringe and there was nothing he could do in that vulnerable second.

With a yell of determination, Arlen slammed the tribune's head into a junction box, sending blue arcs of electricity dancing into the air. The sparks fluttered out quickly and the stench of burning skin fouled the wind.

Again Varn recovered, though it was clearly difficult for him this time. His body was giving up on him, his strength waning with every passing moment. Still, he went on, bringing the knife overarm in an effort to plunge it into Arlen's neck.

Tearing the dented junction box door from its hinges, Arlen raised the thin slat of metal in time to bat the knife away. He used Varn's own momentum to throw him off-balance before slamming the edge of the panel into his shattered face.

Varn let out a low moan and dark fluid poured from his mouth. The knife finally slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a hollow clang while blood dripped from his other hand in a grotesque mirror image.

He stood, swaying for a moment. The tribune's face was a mask of blue gore, scored with dark lines. His voice gurgled as it came from his throat.

'Damn you, kid. Spirits damn you and all your family.'

The breeze whistled through the wrecked wall, mocking the sudden quiet that had fallen on the pair.

Varn staggered forward, his eyes still alight with fury even as his body ceased to function. His legs were dull and senseless, unable to take his weight and he threw a wild swing as he stumbled.

The hand clacked neatly as Arlen stopped it with a palm and it remained there as Varn's breathing slowed into heaving gasps.

They stared at one another and the world seemed to ignore them. The history of the Legion, of the First Contact War, the struggles of all played out in a single instant between the two men; old locked in a deadly embrace with the new, two turian worlds struggling in a silent moment.

Then the world caught up.

The room revolved around Varn as his feet left the ground. The place where he had stood with Krassus only a short time ago, bathing in the warmth of victory, was left far behind as his body was tossed unceremoniously through the gap in the wall. It was a long way down and the jungle passed Varn in flashes of green before he crashed into the hard ground.

He found himself staring at the dull grey stone of the compound wall. The dirt beneath him lined his throat but he didn't have the energy left to cough.

Varn felt nothing but a sense of peace as his spirit prepared to join those of his brothers, bound to the ideal they had all shared.

He barely heard the steady clicking of clawed feet on the ground as the varren approached cautiously, drawn by the scent of blood on the dusk wind.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

General Jardan Krassus' eyes were dull orbs as they passed over the churning turmoil outside his window.

He could see it all, from the robotic defence drones going berserk and gunning down their former operators to the heavy gun towers tearing holes in the base they were supposed to protect. Had it been so long ago that he'd felt so safe here? The feeling was so distant now that it might well have not existed to begin with.

Now everything was still. The virus had run its course and perished, leaving death and utter ruin in its wake.

Krassus’ eyes drifted from side to side, picking out small details from his generous vantage point. He saw a young Legionary set upon by several wild varren, his frantic movements quickly ended as the creatures tore into his flesh, cracking open the armour like a shell. He saw a dark smear to his left as black smoke billowed into the sky, tainting the sunset with its acrid smog.

The gunship had been the last snapping thread of his despair. To see the craft plummeting to the ground was to see the greatest part of their firepower disappear and Krassus still hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing it explode into pale flame.

Screams came to him from time to time, carried on the wind as the wounded were set upon by some manner of jungle beast or another.

'You were right,' the general whispered. He was alone and it did not matter if only the spirits could hear him.

'I'm sorry, Avitus.'

Krassus released his whiskey bottle and it cracked as it hit the ground. There was nothing left inside to spill out.

It had helped, he found. For the first time in the ten years since he’d bought the cursed stuff, it had finally helped. He felt his grief and shame only as a vague thing in his chest, a pain without form or substance.

In that, however, he felt a new sorrow in itself. He was not even strong enough to face his own failure without the strong drink to smooth the way.

He heard the footsteps behind him through the haze and spoke loudly and clearly. 'You don't have to creep up on me boy. I'm in no shape to fight you.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen did not react to the general’s words. He kept the Carnifex pointed squarely at Krassus' chest as he advanced slowly, one foot crossing over the other in perfect balance. 

Krassus chuckled hoarsely at the boy's caution and spread his arms wide.

'Am I still so threatening to you?' He let out a coarse grunt, a choking sound of mocking amusement. 'This must be quite a sight. The Forgotten Legion, the last true turians, wiped out by their own machines. Tricked by a damn salarian of all people.'

'Yanus?' Arlen asked.

'Yes, Yanus,' the general replied bitterly. He lowered his head and shook it mournfully. 'He used our own weapon against us. No,' he added, closing his eyes tightly, 'no, it wasn't our weapon. It never was. The Fusion Directives were linked to him alone to begin with. Every copy of the virus that came from Peak Ten was imprinted to Yanus, I see that now, each AI utterly subservient to that bastard. I should've seen it before.'

Arlen's brow twitched as he recalled Petra's pain and distress whenever she was in the virus' vicinity. It was all the proof he needed that Yanus could well influence her as well, given the chance.

Moistening his lips, he came to a halt several paces away, his aim dropping slightly as the sense of immediate danger passed.

'I still don't understand. What does Yanus gain from all of this?' he asked.

Krassus hefted his sagging shoulders. 'Who knows? Who can fathom the goals of people like him? They give and take, seemingly on a whim and yet Yanus wouldn't have lasted long in this galaxy if there wasn't some method behind it. Hell if I can see it, though.'

The general's mouth upturned into a pained smile. 'Our own motivations must seem so simple in comparison, so quaint.'

'There was nothing simple about your goals,' Arlen growled. 'You wanted to restart a war that should never have happened in the first place. You wanted to incite a hatred that people are trying their damndest to put behind them, even after thirty years.'

Krassus' expression eased and his blue paint darkened as he raised his head in appraisal of the young man.

'You still say that now, after all you've seen and heard?'

'You're damn right I do,' the young Interceptor answered, his voice ringing with conviction. 'The past is the past, Krassus. I see that now. I know who and what my father was but it doesn't define who I am, or the actions I take. All I see here is the same hypocrisy I see everywhere else; men who claim they care about our people but would see a million of them die in a senseless war. Men who claim to be soldiers but have only targeted innocent civilians so far.'

'People die in war,' Krassus replied dismissively. 'I don't like it, nobody does but it's unavoidable. This was always about more than the Jamestown, more than Shanxi. It was about reclaiming the heritage that was thrown away in a moment of weakness. The turian race needs to be reminded of the sacrifices made in its name.'

Arlen's voice rang out in the small room. 'But that doesn't mean we should let it jeopardise everything we've accomplished since then!'

Krassus said nothing for a time, his face contorting with conflict.

'Perhaps I really was wrong about you,' he murmured gently. 'I thought once you'd learned the truth about Shanxi and Renius you would be a little more…amenable to our cause. But I see now how alike you two are. You and your father, I mean.' 

Arlen opened his mouth to object and the general raised a hand, interrupting him.

'I don't mean in the obvious sense. I mean that in you I see that same, unflinching strength, that same resolve. Yes, General Kryik made a mistake thirty years ago but he was no fool. Only an idiot would assume he reached his position through luck alone. Once, he was a man to follow, a man who commanded the Seventh Legion with honour and strength.'

'Now you admire him?' Arlen asked with a snort.

'I never said I didn't,' Krassus pointed out. 'The Relay 314 Incident was the decision of a man who believed in our people's strength, our right to assert dominance over lesser species. The decision to go to war was not a sound decision but the true mistake,' he continued, pacing across the room, 'was the complacency that followed, the diplomatic blunders that are not so easily forgiven. It was the interference of the Council, the weakness of the Primarch, the prevalence of politics over our rightful way of life. That was why the Seventh Exodus began. Yes, Shanxi was hell but it could have meant something! A man can give his life willingly, leaving behind his family and friends if it is for a greater purpose. All the turians who died in the First Contact War were shamed, disgraced by the weakness of our trusted leaders.' 

He paused and his voice grew quiet, thoughtful. 'That is why I'm here today, with the son of Renius standing before me, ready to haul me before the Council.'

'You don't have a choice, Krassus,' Arlen said forcefully, taking a step forward. 'I have a man in the shuttle bay who can get us out of here. You'll face trial for what you've done and I hope you'll come to regret it while you spend the rest of your life in prison.'

Krassus stood silently for a moment, weighing up the young turian in front of him.

'Before I leave, I want you to answer a question. Truthfully.'

Frowning, Arlen was tempted to refuse but grudgingly stayed his tongue. He didn’t know why but it felt important to let the old general have this final moment, before his days of freedom came to an end.

Arlen lifted his chin and spoke brusquely. 'What's the question?'

'Do you believe me to be evil?'

Arlen blinked, confused. 'That's an odd thing to ask, General. What do you expect me to say?'

Shrugging, Krassus turned back to the smouldering remains of his army, his legacy.

'It might seem strange to you but nonetheless, I'm curious. A man should put great stock in how he is viewed by his enemies. If the only one to defeat him is a great man,' he paused to glance at Arlen over his shoulder, 'such as he is, then one can only hope he has left his mark before the end. What do you say? Am I a tyrant? A terrorist?'

Arlen pursed his lips. He had seen a thousand lives end at the hands of Krassus and his men. He had watched Illium descend into chaos and had been chased like an animal through the snows of Noveria.

He could never forgive Krassus for what he had done and yet the old man still held an air of nobility that couldn’t be ignored. Like Qi'in and Varn, and Vastra too, Krassus was a man who had seen so much that it felt impossible to judge him in such simple terms.

Even at that moment, the general stood bathed in the rich Zorya twilight, his shoulders back and spine straight - an image of turian discipline even in defeat.

Shaking his head slowly, Arlen finally gave his answer.

'I don't know if you're evil, General. I just know…'

Words failed him and he looked down as he tried to summon more. It felt simply wrong to just stay quiet.

'I just know what I have to do. It doesn't feel right to me, at least, not completely right but I have to accept that not many things in this life will be that simple. I see that now. I used to think my training and my orders would see me through, that the details didn't matter. But they do. They do matter and you can go insane questioning it all, your mind lost as you try to decide if any of it is justified.'

Arlen looked up and his eyes shone.

'But I now know being a turian…being a true turian…is mastering your doubts and remaining loyal to the oaths you swore as a child. To the Hierarchy, to your family and to yourself. Loyalty to others is what matters, General, and we have loyalties to more than just our own kind. I…admire your devotion, to your cause and to your men but I won't let it affect my own. Not for a second.'

'Loyalty,' Krassus repeated, the word lingering on his lips as he turned back to Arlen. 'I think you're right, son.'

As his deep voice faded, Krassus brought his arm up and Arlen raised his weapon immediately at the sight of the Gladius pistol in the general's hand, though his mouth dropped in horror when he realised the pistol was not aimed at him.

Krassus did not hesitate. He pulled the trigger as the barrel rested firmly under his chin and his head snapped back, the blue eyes that had held Arlen's only moments ago turning up into their sockets as the shot cracked out.

A jet of blue sprayed across the window behind him and Arlen cried out in stricken panic, the voice far away in his ears.

Krassus hit the ground, still and dead.

The gunshot receded to leave a swallowing silence, broken only by the scraping of Arlen's knees on the stone floor.

He scrabbled over to the fallen general, his voice escaping in manic mutterings. 'No, no, no you can't…this isn't…'

It was over. The Legion was finished and its leader lay dead at Arlen's feet but the knowledge brought him no satisfaction.

As he lifted a trembling hand to Krassus' eyes, Arlen felt tears start. He jerked upright, shocked at his own reaction but he knew he had little control over his own body at that point. He remained on his knees, his emotions black and his shoulders slumped as streams of salty water cut through the muck and blood on his face.

He did not make a sound. There were no sobs or screams of anguish, just a torrent of sorrow he couldn't stop. He didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until they drew near.

His raw, stinging eyes flickered up to the window but there was no reflection, only a dark, wet smear.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Jacob stared at the scene pensively and pretended not to notice Arlen's grief. 

'Looks like this is it,’ the sergeant murmured. ‘General Krassus is gone for good.'

'I failed,' Arlen croaked in reply. 'I was supposed to take him in alive but he…'

Jacob's mouth firmed uncomfortably. 'I think we all failed here. None of this feels like a victory.'

Sighing, Arlen took a deep breath and rose to his feet. His legs looked suddenly unaccustomed to the weight.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, Jacob realised Arlen didn’t care who he was. There was nothing hidden between them. Jacob was simply another soul in that private moment of confusion and despair, the only other witness to the end of a great enemy.

In that, Jacob understood Arlen’s frankness. It seemed only fitting that something, anything be said before Krassus' body was left to whoever came looking for it.

'What will you do now?' Arlen asked, his eyes still on Krassus.

'We verify the body for Alliance Command,' Jacob replied, approaching Arlen's side. 'We all go home, get paid and nothing is solved. One more man dead and as usual, nobody knows a damn thing about any of this.'

'I think,' Arlen said quietly, 'I think that's what bothers me the most, you know. A part of me thinks people should know what happened here but would they understand? Would they even care?'

Jacob's throat pulsed gently as he swallowed. It was one of the very thoughts that had been at the forefront of his mind for years now.

'I joined this unit to make a difference,' he answered. 'I was sick of sitting back and watching the galaxy go to hell and I thought the Corsairs would give me a chance to change things for the better. But it's all the same bullshit. Instead of the red tape, the rules, it's the mission itself. We knew there was something bigger going on from the start and even now, with Krassus dead, there are still too many questions - questions I won't see answered any time soon.'

Jacob let his rifle hang loose in his arm, swinging by his side. He started to drift towards the door, all of his exhaustion and resignation evident in his next words.

'I've had enough of this. All of it.'

Arlen finally tore his gaze from Krassus and looked at Jacob, his face streaked with bloody tears. 'There's a turian hiding out in the shuttle bay. His name's Heiros, a friendly from Noveria.'

Jacob understood. 'If you can contact him, make sure he stays out of the way and I'll direct the rest of my squad away from the hangar. Should be enough for the two of you to escape.'

'I appreciate it. And Sergeant?' Arlen called out, stopping Jacob just before he could leave the room. 'You wanted to ask, didn't you? About my father?'

Turning back, Jacob nodded. 'I wanted to know how you deal. Just curious.'

The request made Arlen grin, the expression sour. 'Ignorance is bliss.'

To his surprise, Jacob found himself chuckling at the simple answer.

'Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.'

He left the room and Arlen gazed around one more time before opening his omni-tool.

'Petra. The virus should be gone. See if you can access the comm relays and patch me through to JSTF. I want to get the hell off this damned planet.’


	40. Chapter 40

The turian C-Sec guard held up his hand in warning. 'I'm sorry, Ma'am, there's been a security breach in JSTF headquarters. The commander's given orders to keep anyone from entering until the situation is resolved.'

Keller clenched her jaw and stared at him balefully, her eyes tired slits in bruised sockets.

'I'm part of JSTF, you jackass! Call Chellick, he'll confirm my position.'

A small part of the detective admitted her appearance was enough to arouse suspicion. Her C-Sec armour was scuffed and battered, with a gaping hole in the thigh and a thick application of medigel glistening within, its anaesthetic long since worn off. Her hair had lost its golden sheen and her skin was paler than usual as it drew tight across her cheeks in a mask of exhaustion.

She’d barely slept on the journey back to the Citadel and her temper frayed at this final delay, enough for her voice to sound like a waspish snap no matter what she said.

The guard narrowed his eyes at the insult and returned it in kind, his own patience spent.

'Is that so? Well, we've already had one human go rogue today,' he sneered, ' and I'm not going to be responsible for another. I won’t disturb the commander either, not on the word of some random stranger who thinks she can just-'

A three-fingered hand clasped the guard's shoulder from behind and Keller's lips parted in surprise as Garrus interrupted, his warm voice filling the air.

'I hope you're not giving the detective a hard time, Rias?' he asked, his tone pleasant.

'Agent Vakarian?' the guard whispered in surprise, his gaze quickly snapping back to Keller. He grinned meekly and stammered a response. 'M-my apologies, Ma'am, I didn't realise…'

'Just let me through,' she ordered, hiding a smile of triumph, 'and next time, ask to see some damn ID. I could've confirmed everything with my freaking omni-tool if you'd have just asked.'

'Um…yes, Ma'am,' the guard mumbled as she stormed past and through the airlock doors. 'I will, absolutely.'

He sank back as Keller strode by and Garrus joined her, his lips drawn into a thin smile. 'You could've reminded him to ask for your ID sooner, you know. Would've avoided the headache and saved yourself some time. You know we turians don't back down easily.'

'Hey, my own job's hard enough as it is right now. I'm not in the mood to remind other people how to do theirs. In any case,' she added, 'what's all this about a security breach?'

Garrus' breath seemed to catch in his lungs and he laughed to disguise it, changing the subject immediately.

'You’re lucky I was heading out. I overheard Rias giving someone a hard time and as soon as I realise that someone was you I came as fast as I could.'

'I appreciate the attention,' Keller replied with a hint of sarcasm. 'Even when I was working undercover as Dark Star's resident floozy, I'd never seen a man move so fast on my account. I'm starting to see why everyone says you have a way with the ladies.'

Smirking, Garrus gave her a sidelong glance. 'Well, either way you're a sight for sore eyes. We all thought we'd lost you and Arlen back on Noveria. We were trying to get answers but kept getting blocked by corporate bureaucracy at every turn, all our questions met with "We're looking into it, so be quiet or we'll sue you".'

He looked worried as his eyes flickered to Keller again. 'We figured you'd died out there.'

'We almost did. A lot's happened, Garrus, I don't even know where to begin explaining.'

Dipping his head, Garrus sighed. 'Same here, but first of all, let's get you some coffee. That's what you humans like to drink, right?'

Sniffing, Keller's eyes were wide as she approached the command centre entrance and stopped in its wake.

It had felt so long ago since she was last there, the time an open void that swallowed all the memories in between. She replied, her voice distant as she scanned the room, as if looking for something.

'I prefer tea, myself. In any case, it can wait. Arlen was alive the last time I saw him and he still is now, I know it.'

'Where is he?'

'Zorya. He's gone after General Krassus but there were complications.'

Thoughts of the strange Alliance soldiers who rescued them raced through Keller’s mind and her heart quickened as a sudden urge to see Arlen again surfaced.

'I…I just want to get him out of there as quickly as possible, with or without Krassus. Where's Lina? We'll need her to-'

She didn't notice Garrus' pained expression, but his silence drew her eyes from the busy scene in front of her.

'Lina's…' he replied hesitantly, 'Lina's been injured. Shot.'

Keller's mouth hung open. 'What? How…?'

Garrus held up a hand. 'It's a long story. One of many you'll be hearing over the next few hours, I'm sure.'

He stepped out into the command centre's light and nodded to the right, towards the darkened windows of Chellick's private office.

'Go talk to Chellick and I'll meet you in there. I want to set Lorica to work on getting a strike team out to Zorya right away. Now that we're back in touch with the Council we can allocate serious resources to digging Krassus out. Hopefully Arlen will still be alive.'

'Back in touch with the Council?' Keller asked, confused. 'We were out of touch with them?'

The weary look in Garrus' eyes made her exhaustion return tenfold, and she suddenly felt her curiosity evaporate.

'Oh. Another long story?'

'Better you don't hear that one,' Garrus answered uneasily. 'In any case, it doesn't matter anymore. Go on, I'll meet you up there.'

'Okay.' Keller turned, but halted mid-step. 'Hey, Garrus? It's good to see you again but the next time you ask for a favour, I'm gonna have to think twice about it.'

The command centre's presence weighed on their silence and they shared an ironic smile, one that accompanied the memory of when Garrus had asked her to meet up with Arlen in the first place.

'Right,' Garrus answered with a simple grunt.

Reluctantly, Keller turned again and her feet pounded the silvery metal stairs that rose to Chellick’s office. Her armour was little more than dead weight to her now that its protection was unnecessary and she felt the raw irritation of her skin beneath in hot, stinging patches.

Still, she did not want to waste time. All the small pains and discomforts mattered little while Arlen was still out there.

~~~ME-I~~~

The blows came at Arlen, fast and hard.

Fists clattered on armour and feet shuffled across the ground noisily as Varn's fists arced out with terrifying speed. Both men tried to manoeuvre into an advantage with feints and lunges but neither provided an easy opening.

Sweat and spittle flew as their heads and bodies jerked, their pace and direction changing suddenly and without warning.

Varn stood nearly a head taller than Arlen and his wounds hadn't dulled his strength or his wits. It was like facing a solid wall and Arlen felt the first touch of despair crack through the automatic movements of his training.

The tribune was older, slower but hadn’t gone soft with age. Arlen jabbed with his left and it cracked against Varn's eye, yet the impact didn’t even dent the old soldier's rhythm.

Varn returned with a hook that rocked Arlen's body as he blocked it, the force of the blow sapping what little strength the young Interceptor had.

Arlen willed himself to concentrate. He was heavily injured and it would not take much to finish him off. Already he could sense his heart straining, his arms burning as the last ounces of strength were wrung from his muscles.

'Come on, boy,' Varn spat in between breaths, malice twisting his words. 'Is this it? Is this the last child of Renius Kryik?' He tested Arlen with a series of fast punches. 'I expected better from the last student of the Iron General.'

Arlen knew Varn was taunting him, trying to sting him into foolish action. He replied as calmly as he could, his voice jarred by the impact of armour on armour.

'I don't care about either Renius or you, but I will put an end to this!'

Varn's hand licked out and scraped inside Arlen's guard, catching him in the jaw.

Furiously, Arlen blinked past the pain and tried to raise his arms but Varn had the momentum, and wet smacks rang out as his strikes connected with bloody flesh.

Stumbling, Arlen toppled over and his back hit a nearby console bank with a resounding clang, every nerve in his body ringing with the sensation. He gasped hoarsely, trying to regain his wind but his lungs were failing him.

Varn stood back, his stance easing. He did not want a quick kill, not yet.

Arlen staggered to his feet. His eyes moved quickly, taking in what he could in the sudden lull and he frowned at the sight of an old combat knife strapped tightly to Varn's thigh. It was then he knew the tribune was toying with him. If Varn wanted Arlen dead he would have cut his throat while he had the chance.

The confidence had been there from the very beginning; Varn had been waiting for the opportunity to beat Arlen to death and he knew he would prevail.

'At least your brother had spirit,' Varn sneered again, stepping closer. 'I read the reports when he joined the military. He had a mind of his own, something that gave him the strength to follow his own path. That was why he became a Spectre. You, on the other hand…'

Varn sped forward and before Arlen could react, he had grabbed him by the throat.

Arlen recoiled under Varn’s foul breath, hot on his face.

'You are not even in the same league, boy,’ Varn growled. ‘You might be skilled but all I see is a machine, something programmed by Renius to obey. You're a lapdog to the Council, to the Hierarchy, and most of all to him. You're nothing, not even a turian!'

Arlen sputtered and choked as Varn lifted him to his feet by his neck. He felt his windpipe constrict slowly, making the blood pound in his ears and blinking spots appear in his vision. His arms batted feebly at Varn's armour and his eyes blinked in delirious panic.

His body was numb, unresponsive but his mind ticked over, separate and independent.

It was terrified. It tormented him with visions of a human woman with warm, soft skin and hair that shone like the dusk sun. It told him he would never see Amanda again.

Another voice spoke, familiar and unwelcome enough to penetrate Arlen’s terror.

'Stop wavering,' Renius rumbled.

Arlen's pupils grew wide and dark and Varn's hold tightened around his throat.

'Your mind is filled with doubt. That doubt will kill you. Master it.' Renius spoke quickly but deliberately, each word a knife thrust aimed into Arlen's heart. 'Let your training, your instincts take over. Don't rely on your mind. It will betray you. Trust your instincts.'

The world turned into a mess of liqueous shapes around Arlen but he felt his hands move up to take a rough hold on Varn's arm. His body was spent but that was not all he had.

'At least…' the Interceptor whispered, the words a ragged hiss, 'at least my brother's still alive.'

Varn blinked, incredulous. He stalled for a moment, frozen in place.

'What did you say?'

The pressure on Arlen's throat receded but did not disappear. It gave him enough air to work another sound from his stinging lips.

'Thanks to you and your stupid ideals, Crixus is dead. You know that, don't you?'

The words stilled Varn's breath, bringing a sudden hush that made the wrecked ops room seem all the emptier. The wall that had been destroyed by the artillery tower was a glowing white shape, the evening light too glaring to see the jungle outside.

'You…dare…'

Arlen did not waste his energy with physical struggle. He simply looked Varn in the eye and spoke as clearly as he could.

'Crixus called you his brother. He trusted you and now he's gone. Dead. What would his father think of that?'

A dark shadow passed over Varn's features, a rage so palpable Arlen could taste it as he sucked in a wheezing breath.

The tribune roared suddenly and tossed Arlen aside, the weak body flopping to the ground like a doll.

'You know nothing!' Varn shouted, pacing towards him in fury. 'Crixus gave his life of his own will, for the Legion!'

'I know better than you think.'

Arlen lifted his head and held the tribune's amber gaze.

'I was the one who took his life.'

Varn's mouth worked without sound, as if chewing on a piece of meat. His expression twitched, shifting between disbelief and anger.

'You've got to be joking. Crixus, bested by a mere child? It's a lie…it…it has to be!'

Arlen closed his eyes as he struggled to recall the details.

'Red face paint,' he muttered, 'Parthia colonial pattern. Shorter but leaner than you. I remember him perfectly. He was strong, like you but he underestimated me and I killed him, gunned him down like the terrorist he was.'

Snarling, Varn crossed the room and took Arlen by the neck again, his hands trembling around his throat. With roar he surged forward, pressing Arlen against a large, bulky console.

Arlen's back arched over it until he was looking up at the ceiling, cool blood dribbling from his chin as he choked in Varn's grasp.

'You'll pay for what you've done!' Varn screamed. 'You'll pay for everything you and your father put us through! You, your brother, every piece of vermin who dares to stand against us! You'll all pay!'

The world began to blacken around the edges of Arlen's sight. The room smelled of blood and ash, and all he could hear was his own heart. It fluttered weakly, knowing he could not take any more.

Darkness crept in and he was helpless against it.

~~~ME-I~~~

'Come on,' Jacob murmured to himself, his muscles jumping in automatic reflex as another round skipped off the crate at his back.

Beside him, Miller's brow was knotted in grim concentration, his Revenant rattling their cover as he unleashed a torrent of suppressing fire across the paved courtyard.

The enemy were taking sporadic, yet well-aimed shots from the second floor of the building to their front, their target building. It would be easy enough to clear the snipers from their hole but the real problem lay above.

A Mantis gunship stalked overhead, a sleek, green-painted menace with two hanging wings and a bulbous cockpit jutting from the airframe. A heavy machinegun lay beneath the chin and it spewed fire at irregular intervals, showers of searing yellow light that would cut to pieces anyone or anything foolish enough to cross the open ground.

Chen was with Weiss further down the line, spread out as best they could and yet within easy reach of one another should something go wrong. They too returned fire, their rifles chattering in stuttered tones but they were in the same hopeless situation.

Dukov and Winterbourne had made it across to the main building before the Mantis showed up but they could not move further in by themselves.

Even now, Jacob could see the major, his head peeking gingerly from a ragged hole the artillery towers had torn in the thick stone. There were signs of such damage on all the buildings around them; clearly the defences had gone haywire, as Hammond had said.

Jacob’s thoughts turning to his fellow sergeant, and he cast an anxious glance back to the mountainside rising past the wall to his left before repeated the only words that had been on his lips for the past few minutes.

'Come on, damn it!'

Finally, the shot came. Hammond's Widow bellowed its report through the jungle, cracking like thunder above even the gunship's steady roar.

The heavy slug emerged as a white streak from the hillside, colliding with one of the Mantis' engines in a thumping explosion of flame and black metal. The craft whined pitifully and began to spin out of control.

For a terrible instant Jacob thought it would come down on top of them but found himself reassured by Miller's reaction. The big man was smiling.

Their eyes remained on the stricken gunship as it burned a trail to the ground and crashed beyond the structures to their right. The colossal impact shook the ground beneath their boots and the sound came a moment later; a booming wave that echoed through the compound and made Jacob's teeth ache.

He heard Chen whistle over his suit radio. 'Shit, that was a good shot, Six. One for the books.'

Weiss' cold tone cut in, preventing any further chatter. 'Four, Seven, get moving across the courtyard while you can.'

Jacob heaved himself to his feet and set off across the open ground at a sprint. Miller lagged a few paces behind, his enormous strength carrying both the bulk of his heavy armour and the massive Revenant with consummate ease.

He was barely even sweating, Jacob noted enviously while his own skin shone, his armour sweltering as the last of the day's heat radiated from the stone around them.

They reached the main building, clambering over the wrecked wall and Winterbourne shuffled aside to let them through. The cool shadow of the interior was blissful and both men had to resist the urge to sit and catch their breaths now they were out of the sun.

Dukov watched them straighten, his own rifle trained carefully on the room's only entrance. His eyes flickered toward Miller.

'Sergeant, take over.'

'Yes, Boss,' Miller acknowledged and assumed a position opposite the door, his Revenant resting by his hip. There was little need for precision aiming with such a weapon, not in such tight quarters.

Jacob frowned quizzically as Dukov approached and spoke to him directly.

'We're going to have to split up and clear the building, floor by floor.'

'But we know where Krassus is,' Jacob pointed out. 'Why don't we head straight to the top?'

'Things may have gone to hell here but we still don't actually know if Krassus is communicating with his men. He could end up calling the whole base down on our heads and we'd be trapped up there. We need to keep an extraction route clear.'

It dawned on Jacob that he was being singled out. 'You want me to secure the general, Sir?'

Dukov nodded. 'You need to move fast, before he realises we're here. Use the frags if you need to; we need him alive, not uninjured.'

'Right,' Jacob agreed. Perspiration crept down his forehead in thin lines and he opened his mouth to say more. He wanted to wish the major luck but it wasn't necessary. It even felt foolish.

Without another word, Jacob turned and made his way cautiously from the room, his rifle raised and eyes wide.

~~~ME-I~~~

As Taylor disappeared from sight, Dukov sighed and looked back at Weiss and Chen, still holding position in the courtyard.

Taylor was a young wolf, keen to get his man and make his mark, and once more Dukov felt the fingers of age on his soul.

It was right that Taylor be the one to apprehend Krassus. The lad could move fast and no one in the team had better reflexes in close quarters. Still, it hurt to give up the prize, especially the last one Dukov would get to claim.

His steel eyes watched Weiss outside as she crossed the open ground with Chen, the younger man biting his lip in pain. Dukov looked down to the hole that had been punched in his side, the armour cleanly broken. It was clear the damage to his body would be minimal but the major didn't want it to interfere.

The two soldiers scrambled over the crumbling wall and Dukov immediately addressed Chen.

'Injured, Sergeant?'

Chen straightened, his mouth wide and teeth shining white as he panted heavily with both pain and fatigue.

'Just a scratch, Sir. I can do without the medigel for now.'

Dukov accepted his judgement with a sharp nod. Medigel was a miracle of battlefield medicine but the anaesthetic qualities were a burden on senses that needed to remain alert. Often a soldier would endure a minor wound whenever he could rather than have his instincts dulled at a critical moment.

Frowning softly, Dukov looked beyond them all to the courtyard. Several dark shapes prowled around the edges, four-legged beasts half the height of a man. Their underbellies were revealed as they raised their heads to sniff the air, lurid flashes of arterial red against their darker backs.

Even at that distance, Dukov could see the obscenely large fangs glistening in their salivating mouths like sharp white needles.

He kept his hard gaze in their direction and murmured gently. 'Looks like the local wildlife’s taking an interest. That can only help us, providing they don't get in our way.'

'Sir?' Miller asked. The sergeant's arms were now trembling with the strain of holding the Revenant but his voice did not waver. 'Suggest I stay behind to cover our rear. Last thing we need are varren biting our asses off while we try and exfil the target.'

Dukov bit his lip. He chafed at the thought of leaving another of his team alone but what choice did he have? The humidity pricked at his thoughts, making even the simplest of decisions difficult and the indecision infuriated him.

He sniffed in the moist air and bobbed his head. Miller could look after himself.

'All right. Don't leave this room and don't fire unless you have to. Hopefully the varren will move on and cause trouble somewhere else.'

He turned to Weiss.

'Kristen, take Chen and secure this floor. Winterbourne and I'll take the second. Whoever finishes first gets the third.'

Weiss' cool features cracked under a rare grin. 'You'll have to work fast to beat me, Sir.'

A private moment passed between the two soldiers and Dukov could not help but smile back at her as a simple memory crossed his mind.

A gold ring lay clasped in his hand, pressed into his palm by the woman who only smiled for him, when no one else could see. He put it in the drawer next to his bed, as did she with hers, safe to await their return.

His tone was soft as he replied quietly. 'You always have to be on top, don't you?'

Weiss gave him a small wink and her grin widened, a near-invisible quirk of her mouth before it was lost for good. The sentiment was dropped in an instant, pushed aside to make way for the task at hand.

The Corsairs split into their teams while Miller strode to the wall and knelt behind it, grunting appreciatively as he was allowed to rest his weapon on something solid.

'Shit,' Chen suddenly exclaimed, drawing the group's attention. 'Miller was right; it did only take a week to find Krassus.' He looked to the man in question. ‘Doesn’t Winterbourne owe you a twenty?’

Winterbourne rolled her eyes and pushed Chen roughly, ignoring the hiss of pain it produced.

'Thanks for pointing that out, asshole.'

It was hard for the Corsairs to stifle their laughter as they readied themselves for the final push.

It would be over soon, one way or another and they could all feel home beckoning to them.

~~~ME-I~~~

Varn felt Arlen's breath grow weak and the squirming lessened beneath his crushing grip.

Anger surged through the tribune, giving him a strength he hadn't felt in years.

Crixus was in his thoughts, once more the little boy who looked at him stoically as he was told of his father's death in battle. That boy, who gazed up at him in adoration every time Varn entered the house, fresh from campaign and ready to tell his stories to the eager youngster. The boy who had asked him what it meant to be a soldier so many years ago.

His murderer lay under Varn's heavy hands and he narrowed his eyes at Arlen.

There was little to recognise beneath the mass of crusted gore but what there was, it reminded Varn of the general who had taken Crixus' father from him.

He still hadn't told Crixus' younger sister, Lavia, of her brother's death and the guilt made his eyes sting with unbidden emotion.

'Die,' he murmured as the life fluttered weakly in his hands, his fingers slipping on fresh blood.

~~~ME-I~~~

Arlen spluttered as the last scraps of air were torn from his lungs. His face burned and no part of his body was without pain, but underneath it all he was finally ready.

He moved fast, putting the last, fierce remnants of his strength into a shout as he swung his arm up.

Varn frowned and reacted instantly, raising his left hand to block Arlen's strike.

Suddenly, a sharp crack pierced the air and Varn’s eyes widened. He released his hold on Arlen, backing away slowly as he stared in mute horror at his arm.

His own combat knife lay buried in the elbow joint, taken from the sheath at his hip. The tip of the blade was dark and slick as it poked through the other side. He looked at it with a puzzled expression as Arlen hacked and coughed.

Arlen blinked hard, knowing he didn’t have long before Varn came to his senses.

Still frowning, Varn grunted as he withdrew the knife, the blade rasping as it slid against bone and armour plate. Immediately, blood flowed in a black river over the shining armguard, oozing over the polished metal in thick, pulsing gouts.

Varn started to shudder, as if something had taken hold of his body against his will and was shaking it violently.

In a moment of realisation, Arlen knew an artery had been cut and Varn’s life would be measured in minutes.

'You little bastard,' Varn said roughly, his voice shaking with pain. 'You played me for a fool with all that talk of Crixus. You lured me right in and I fell for it.'

Arlen did not respond. He was done with words. Instead he settled his cold gaze on Varn, relaxing into his instinctive stance and shutting out everything around him. He was still weak but now the two men were on even terms.

Varn read his change in mood and tensed, knowing there would be no more talk. His punctured arm continued to bleed heavily but he visibly shut the weakness out with contempt.

He held the combat talon firmly in his other hand. There was no remorse or anger in either man now and neither had reason to hold back. Varn narrowed his eyes and growled as he came at Arlen again.

The knife cut the air with sibilant rings as it lashed out.

Arlen shifted, his body weaving out of the knife’s path, his feet sliding in a steady rhythm. His fist snapped out and Varn's head whipped back for a moment but he did not break his attack, and the knife flickered out again in hard stabs.

Again and again came the hard smack of armoured glove on flesh and Varn began to growl under his breath with each blow he took. His movements were slowing, his very life escaping from his wound in a hot rush.

Arlen felt the momentum shift and turned a thrust aside, taking Varn's arm and twisting it ruthlessly. He still felt the enormous strength left in the man and knew he could not break it without resistance.

Baring his teeth, he spun Varn around and brought him head-first into a console screen with a splintering crash. The machine caved in under the impact and sparks showered from it in golden streams.

Arlen stepped back and Varn barely made a sound as he pulled himself free.

His face glistened with fresh blood and shining glass, but he still did not fall. Arlen watched his mind settle again, sliding once more into a killer's trance. He still held the knife and it came out again in a flash of metal, rasping as it scored a line across Arlen's armoured torso.

Varn grimaced as he urged his body to move faster, to keep up the pace and for a moment his strikes grew quicker in his desperation.

Twice more Arlen flinched as the knife scraped across his belly, knowing that without the suit he would certainly be dead.

The wind howled through the hole in the nearby wall, sending black swirls of dust around their feet. Grunts of effort were joined by the impacts of armour upon armour as both men found their target, Varn with his blade and Arlen with his fists. The sounds echoed through the lifeless room, as harsh and abrupt as the blows they threw.

Arlen backed steadily away from Varn, who continued his assault with a new kind of frenzy before the Interceptor's punch snapped out, catching him on the nose. The plates of his nostrils broke with a deep, aching crunch and his eyes began to water.

Arlen gripped the back of Varn’s head, tightly holding the plates under his fringe and there was nothing he could do in that vulnerable second.

With a yell of determination, Arlen slammed the tribune's head into a junction box, sending blue arcs of electricity dancing into the air. The sparks fluttered out quickly and the stench of burning skin fouled the wind.

Again Varn recovered, though it was clearly difficult for him this time. His body was giving up on him, his strength waning with every passing moment. Still, he went on, bringing the knife overarm in an effort to plunge it into Arlen's neck.

Tearing the dented junction box door from its hinges, Arlen raised the thin slat of metal in time to bat the knife away. He used Varn's own momentum to throw him off-balance before slamming the edge of the panel into his shattered face.

Varn let out a low moan and dark fluid poured from his mouth. The knife finally slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a hollow clang while blood dripped from his other hand in a grotesque mirror image.

He stood, swaying for a moment. The tribune's face was a mask of blue gore, scored with dark lines. His voice gurgled as it came from his throat.

'Damn you, kid. Spirits damn you and all your family.'

The breeze whistled through the wrecked wall, mocking the sudden quiet that had fallen on the pair.

Varn staggered forward, his eyes still alight with fury even as his body ceased to function. His legs were dull and senseless, unable to take his weight and he threw a wild swing as he stumbled.

The hand clacked neatly as Arlen stopped it with a palm and it remained there as Varn's breathing slowed into heaving gasps.

They stared at one another and the world seemed to ignore them. The history of the Legion, of the First Contact War, the struggles of all played out in a single instant between the two men; old locked in a deadly embrace with the new, two turian worlds struggling in a silent moment.

Then the world caught up.

The room revolved around Varn as his feet left the ground. The place where he had stood with Krassus only a short time ago, bathing in the warmth of victory, was left far behind as his body was tossed unceremoniously through the gap in the wall. It was a long way down and the jungle passed Varn in flashes of green before he crashed into the hard ground.

He found himself staring at the dull grey stone of the compound wall. The dirt beneath him lined his throat but he didn't have the energy left to cough.

Varn felt nothing but a sense of peace as his spirit prepared to join those of his brothers, bound to the ideal they had all shared.

He barely heard the steady clicking of clawed feet on the ground as the varren approached cautiously, drawn by the scent of blood on the dusk wind.

~~~ME-I~~~

General Jardan Krassus' eyes were dull orbs as they passed over the churning turmoil outside his window.

He could see it all, from the robotic defence drones going berserk and gunning down their former operators to the heavy gun towers tearing holes in the base they were supposed to protect. Had it been so long ago that he'd felt so safe here? The feeling was so distant now that it might well have not existed to begin with.

Now everything was still. The virus had run its course and perished, leaving death and utter ruin in its wake.

Krassus’ eyes drifted from side to side, picking out small details from his generous vantage point. He saw a young Legionary set upon by several wild varren, his frantic movements quickly ended as the creatures tore into his flesh, cracking open the armour like a shell. He saw a dark smear to his left as black smoke billowed into the sky, tainting the sunset with its acrid smog.

The gunship had been the last snapping thread of his despair. To see the craft plummeting to the ground was to see the greatest part of their firepower disappear and Krassus still hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing it explode into pale flame.

Screams came to him from time to time, carried on the wind as the wounded were set upon by some manner of jungle beast or another.

'You were right,' the general whispered. He was alone and it did not matter if only the spirits could hear him.

'I'm sorry, Avitus.'

Krassus released his whiskey bottle and it cracked as it hit the ground. There was nothing left inside to spill out.

It had helped, he found. For the first time in the ten years since he’d bought the cursed stuff, it had finally helped. He felt his grief and shame only as a vague thing in his chest, a pain without form or substance.

In that, however, he felt a new sorrow in itself. He was not even strong enough to face his own failure without the strong drink to smooth the way.

He heard the footsteps behind him through the haze and spoke loudly and clearly. 'You don't have to creep up on me boy. I'm in no shape to fight you.'

~~~ME-I~~~

Arlen did not react to the general’s words. He kept the Carnifex pointed squarely at Krassus' chest as he advanced slowly, one foot crossing over the other in perfect balance.

Krassus chuckled hoarsely at the boy's caution and spread his arms wide.

'Am I still so threatening to you?' He let out a coarse grunt, a choking sound of mocking amusement. 'This must be quite a sight. The Forgotten Legion, the last true turians, wiped out by their own machines. Tricked by a damn salarian of all people.'

'Yanus?' Arlen asked.

'Yes, Yanus,' the general replied bitterly. He lowered his head and shook it mournfully. 'He used our own weapon against us. No,' he added, closing his eyes tightly, 'no, it wasn't our weapon. It never was. The Fusion Directives were linked to him alone to begin with. Every copy of the virus that came from Peak Ten was imprinted to Yanus, I see that now, each AI utterly subservient to that bastard. I should've seen it before.'

Arlen's brow twitched as he recalled Petra's pain and distress whenever she was in the virus' vicinity. It was all the proof he needed that Yanus could well influence her as well, given the chance.

Moistening his lips, he came to a halt several paces away, his aim dropping slightly as the sense of immediate danger passed.

'I still don't understand. What does Yanus gain from all of this?' he asked.

Krassus hefted his sagging shoulders. 'Who knows? Who can fathom the goals of people like him? They give and take, seemingly on a whim and yet Yanus wouldn't have lasted long in this galaxy if there wasn't some method behind it. Hell if I can see it, though.'

The general's mouth upturned into a pained smile. 'Our own motivations must seem so simple in comparison, so quaint.'

'There was nothing simple about your goals,' Arlen growled. 'You wanted to restart a war that should never have happened in the first place. You wanted to incite a hatred that people are trying their damndest to put behind them, even after thirty years.'

Krassus' expression eased and his blue paint darkened as he raised his head in appraisal of the young man.

'You still say that now, after all you've seen and heard?'

'You're damn right I do,' the young Interceptor answered, his voice ringing with conviction. 'The past is the past, Krassus. I see that now. I know who and what my father was but it doesn't define who I am, or the actions I take. All I see here is the same hypocrisy I see everywhere else; men who claim they care about our people but would see a million of them die in a senseless war. Men who claim to be soldiers but have only targeted innocent civilians so far.'

'People die in war,' Krassus replied dismissively. 'I don't like it, nobody does but it's unavoidable. This was always about more than the Jamestown, more than Shanxi. It was about reclaiming the heritage that was thrown away in a moment of weakness. The turian race needs to be reminded of the sacrifices made in its name.'

Arlen's voice rang out in the small room. 'But that doesn't mean we should let it jeopardise everything we've accomplished since then!'

Krassus said nothing for a time, his face contorting with conflict.

'Perhaps I really was wrong about you,' he murmured gently. 'I thought once you'd learned the truth about Shanxi and Renius you would be a little more…amenable to our cause. But I see now how alike you two are. You and your father, I mean.'

Arlen opened his mouth to object and the general raised a hand, interrupting him.

'I don't mean in the obvious sense. I mean that in you I see that same, unflinching strength, that same resolve. Yes, General Kryik made a mistake thirty years ago but he was no fool. Only an idiot would assume he reached his position through luck alone. Once, he was a man to follow, a man who commanded the Seventh Legion with honour and strength.'

'Now you admire him?' Arlen asked with a snort.

'I never said I didn't,' Krassus pointed out. 'The Relay 314 Incident was the decision of a man who believed in our people's strength, our right to assert dominance over lesser species. The decision to go to war was not a sound decision but the true mistake,' he continued, pacing across the room, 'was the complacency that followed, the diplomatic blunders that are not so easily forgiven. It was the interference of the Council, the weakness of the Primarch, the prevalence of politics over our rightful way of life. That was why the Seventh Exodus began. Yes, Shanxi was hell but it could have meant something! A man can give his life willingly, leaving behind his family and friends if it is for a greater purpose. All the turians who died in the First Contact War were shamed, disgraced by the weakness of our trusted leaders.'

He paused and his voice grew quiet, thoughtful. 'That is why I'm here today, with the son of Renius standing before me, ready to haul me before the Council.'

'You don't have a choice, Krassus,' Arlen said forcefully, taking a step forward. 'I have a man in the shuttle bay who can get us out of here. You'll face trial for what you've done and I hope you'll come to regret it while you spend the rest of your life in prison.'

Krassus stood silently for a moment, weighing up the young turian in front of him.

'Before I leave, I want you to answer a question. Truthfully.'

Frowning, Arlen was tempted to refuse but grudgingly stayed his tongue. He didn’t know why but it felt important to let the old general have this final moment, before his days of freedom came to an end.

Arlen lifted his chin and spoke brusquely. 'What's the question?'

'Do you believe me to be evil?'

Arlen blinked, confused. 'That's an odd thing to ask, General. What do you expect me to say?'

Shrugging, Krassus turned back to the smouldering remains of his army, his legacy.

'It might seem strange to you but nonetheless, I'm curious. A man should put great stock in how he is viewed by his enemies. If the only one to defeat him is a great man,' he paused to glance at Arlen over his shoulder, 'such as he is, then one can only hope he has left his mark before the end. What do you say? Am I a tyrant? A terrorist?'

Arlen pursed his lips. He had seen a thousand lives end at the hands of Krassus and his men. He had watched Illium descend into chaos and had been chased like an animal through the snows of Noveria.

He could never forgive Krassus for what he had done and yet the old man still held an air of nobility that couldn’t be ignored. Like Qi'in and Varn, and Vastra too, Krassus was a man who had seen so much that it felt impossible to judge him in such simple terms.

Even at that moment, the general stood bathed in the rich Zorya twilight, his shoulders back and spine straight - an image of turian discipline even in defeat.

Shaking his head slowly, Arlen finally gave his answer.

'I don't know if you're evil, General. I just know…'

Words failed him and he looked down as he tried to summon more. It felt simply wrong to just stay quiet.

'I just know what I have to do. It doesn't feel right to me, at least, not completely right but I have to accept that not many things in this life will be that simple. I see that now. I used to think my training and my orders would see me through, that the details didn't matter. But they do. They do matter and you can go insane questioning it all, your mind lost as you try to decide if any of it is justified.'

Arlen looked up and his eyes shone.

'But I now know being a turian…being a true turian…is mastering your doubts and remaining loyal to the oaths you swore as a child. To the Hierarchy, to your family and to yourself. Loyalty to others is what matters, General, and we have loyalties to more than just our own kind. I…admire your devotion, to your cause and to your men but I won't let it affect my own. Not for a second.'

'Loyalty,' Krassus repeated, the word lingering on his lips as he turned back to Arlen. 'I think you're right, son.'

As his deep voice faded, Krassus brought his arm up and Arlen raised his weapon immediately at the sight of the Gladius pistol in the general's hand, though his mouth dropped in horror when he realised the pistol was not aimed at him.

Krassus did not hesitate. He pulled the trigger as the barrel rested firmly under his chin and his head snapped back, the blue eyes that had held Arlen's only moments ago turning up into their sockets as the shot cracked out.

A jet of blue sprayed across the window behind him and Arlen cried out in stricken panic, the voice far away in his ears.

Krassus hit the ground, still and dead.

The gunshot receded to leave a swallowing silence, broken only by the scraping of Arlen's knees on the stone floor.

He scrabbled over to the fallen general, his voice escaping in manic mutterings. 'No, no, no you can't…this isn't…'

It was over. The Legion was finished and its leader lay dead at Arlen's feet but the knowledge brought him no satisfaction.

As he lifted a trembling hand to Krassus' eyes, Arlen felt tears start. He jerked upright, shocked at his own reaction but he knew he had little control over his own body at that point. He remained on his knees, his emotions black and his shoulders slumped as streams of salty water cut through the muck and blood on his face.

He did not make a sound. There were no sobs or screams of anguish, just a torrent of sorrow he couldn't stop. He didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until they drew near.

His raw, stinging eyes flickered up to the window but there was no reflection, only a dark, wet smear.

~~~ME-I~~~

Jacob stared at the scene pensively and pretended not to notice Arlen's grief.

'Looks like this is it,’ the sergeant murmured. ‘General Krassus is gone for good.'

'I failed,' Arlen croaked in reply. 'I was supposed to take him in alive but he…'

Jacob's mouth firmed uncomfortably. 'I think we all failed here. None of this feels like a victory.'

Sighing, Arlen took a deep breath and rose to his feet. His legs looked suddenly unaccustomed to the weight.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, Jacob realised Arlen didn’t care who he was. There was nothing hidden between them. Jacob was simply another soul in that private moment of confusion and despair, the only other witness to the end of a great enemy.

In that, Jacob understood Arlen’s frankness. It seemed only fitting that something, anything be said before Krassus' body was left to whoever came looking for it.

'What will you do now?' Arlen asked, his eyes still on Krassus.

'We verify the body for Alliance Command,' Jacob replied, approaching Arlen's side. 'We all go home, get paid and nothing is solved. One more man dead and as usual, nobody knows a damn thing about any of this.'

'I think,' Arlen said quietly, 'I think that's what bothers me the most, you know. A part of me thinks people should know what happened here but would they understand? Would they even care?'

Jacob's throat pulsed gently as he swallowed. It was one of the very thoughts that had been at the forefront of his mind for years now.

'I joined this unit to make a difference,' he answered. 'I was sick of sitting back and watching the galaxy go to hell and I thought the Corsairs would give me a chance to change things for the better. But it's all the same bullshit. Instead of the red tape, the rules, it's the mission itself. We knew there was something bigger going on from the start and even now, with Krassus dead, there are still too many questions - questions I won't see answered any time soon.'

Jacob let his rifle hang loose in his arm, swinging by his side. He started to drift towards the door, all of his exhaustion and resignation evident in his next words.

'I've had enough of this. All of it.'

Arlen finally tore his gaze from Krassus and looked at Jacob, his face streaked with bloody tears. 'There's a turian hiding out in the shuttle bay. His name's Heiros, a friendly from Noveria.'

Jacob understood. 'If you can contact him, make sure he stays out of the way and I'll direct the rest of my squad away from the hangar. Should be enough for the two of you to escape.'

'I appreciate it. And Sergeant?' Arlen called out, stopping Jacob just before he could leave the room. 'You wanted to ask, didn't you? About my father?'

Turning back, Jacob nodded. 'I wanted to know how you deal. Just curious.'

The request made Arlen grin, the expression sour. 'Ignorance is bliss.'

To his surprise, Jacob found himself chuckling at the simple answer.

'Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.'

He left the room and Arlen gazed around one more time before opening his omni-tool.

'Petra. The virus should be gone. See if you can access the comm relays and patch me through to JSTF. I want to get the hell off this damned planet.’


	41. Chapter 41

The JSTF command centre fell quiet at the sound of footsteps upon the entrance ramp. Tired faces rose from behind desks as one by one, every man and woman in the room set aside their work to glance at who had entered the room. 

The air was thick, the silence oddly stifling and Arlen took it all in with a cold expression as he stopped at the threshold of everything he had left behind.

He had been afforded the luxury of water to wash and medicate his wounds on the way back but his skin was still a web of lumps and dark cuts. Under his armour, Varn's torture had left welts that would never truly heal. The physical scars would fade and yet the true injuries were deeper, where medigel could not touch.

The pain was a distant thing as Arlen stood on the spot, almost motionless. He could barely recall any of the faces that stared at him in wonder. Their admiration was reflected in dozens of approving nods and smiling murmurs, the eyes of many species glinting with respect for him.

It was wasted. He couldn’t have cared less for their quiet adulation. He scanned the room, looking past them all for the one face he actually wanted to see.

Everyone seemed to move at once as the staff broke their questioning gazes to rise from their desks. Feet scuffed the ground and before he knew it, Arlen was surrounded by bodies, their hands extended to offer congratulations.

He lowered his eyes, unwilling to meet theirs. He heard their words of thanks and support only as muted rumblings somewhere in his head, distant and meaningless.

'Move!' he heard a deep voice order. 'Come on, make room!'

Arlen glanced up at Chellick as the commander was allowed to the front. He was smiling widely and his hand reached out.

'It's good to see you alive, Arlen. You look like hell.'

The comment made Arlen blink out of his reverie and his mouth moved slowly, each word drawn out with reluctance.

'Yes, Sir.'

'I told you before, it's just Chellick to you,' the older turian replied. 'If the formality wasn't necessary before, it sure as hell isn't now. We'll need a full report on what happened out there, of course but first you should get yourself checked out by our medical team. They're at the end of the service hall, you can find the way. Detective Keller returned here and filled in the gaps on what happened on Noveria but there was nothing she could offer beyond that.'

Arlen did not answer. The world continued to fall away from him as his eyes twitched in their sockets, scanning the faces around him.

He started forward, easing the crowd aside. They moved too slowly and he began to push, suddenly wanting to be away from the press of bodies.

'Move aside, let him through,' he heard Chellick bark. 

The way cleared but it still seemed a struggle for Arlen. The sights and sounds made him uncomfortable and for a moment he regretted coming straight back.

As the thought crossed his mind, Arlen stopped, his feet rooted to the ground.

Keller was waiting at the bottom of the ramp, still in the same armour she had been wearing when he last saw her. She looked tired but her smile was perfect; pale red lips spreading while her eyes glittered in an expression of wordless relief.

Arlen did not hesitate. He strode forward and the room went silent in shock as they embraced desperately. Keller threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close to her body, their armour suits grating against one another loudly.

'You're late,' she whispered.

Arlen was about to answer when her hold tightened and he recoiled, the motion a reflexive jerk that made Keller look up in surprise.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

Arlen's lips silently fumbled with a dozen responses, trying to find a reason for the reaction that had shocked him as much as her.

He turned his head aside and mumbled awkwardly. 'I'm sorry.'

It was only then Keller saw the new scars that had been added in their time apart. White paint had been neatly applied to Arlen’s carapace but it could not hide the multitude of scratches and cracks in his dark skin.

Keller’s hands slid down and her eyes widened at the sight of the reddened blotches covering his neck. The realisation hit her, making her voice weak with sorrow.

'You're…' she said quietly, unable to tear his injuries from her sight, 'you're hurt.'

'Yeah,' Arlen replied.

He wanted to say more, to give the moment more meaning but what could he say? His fists tightened into hard balls at his side, fury welling up at his own inadequacy.

Then he felt a cool hand on his cheek. It pressed against his skin, moving his face towards Keller’s. He met her eyes and felt a pang of alarm to see them rimmed with tears.

'Why did you have to go and get yourself so beat up, huh?' she asked, trying in vain to force humour into her words but the effort failed, her tone sticking with grief. 'You're all… _why?_ I told you to be careful. I told you to…'

Her hands batted at his chest in frail anger. It made Arlen’s skin burn but he barely noticed. It didn’t matter to him, not now, not when he had her in his arms.

He thought Keller was going to speak again but instead she leaned forward, the sudden movement catching him off-guard.

The assembled crowd let out a low gasp as Keller's lips met Arlen's and her brow knotted slightly, whether in intense concentration or irritation at their audience Arlen couldn’t tell.

After a startled moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the soft heat against his lips. He ignored the whispers around them, bringing his hands up to snake carefully around Keller’s waist and he treasured the soft, sharp hiss of breath at the contact.

Even though the armour prevented much sensation, he knew he could feel her warmth spreading from his mouth to the rest of him, banishing many of the dark thoughts and senses that had plagued him in the quiet moments since Krassus' death.

Finally, they parted and tilted their heads, their foreheads touching affectionately.

Arlen's voice was quiet and low. 'There's so much I want to...I _need_ to tell you…but I don't...'

Keller smiled. 'Don't worry. You were right. We really do have time after all.'

The young turian tilted his head bashfully at the memory of their intertwined bodies back on the batarian ship. 'And I still owe you a lunch, as I recall.'

'What do you say to right now?' she asked.

'It's a little early,' he replied but the mischievous light in Keller's gaze held his tongue, and the sudden realisation of what she was proposing made him swallow nervously. Still, it was a good fear. He knew he wanted nothing more than to simply lose himself with her.

'Your place or mine?'

She smiled wolfishly. 'Mine's closer.'

A high-pitched voice cut into the heavy air, startling them both as it rang from Arlen's omni-tool. 'Human female had better be careful. Be gentle with Arlen while he's hurt!'

Petra's tone was lined with envy, and yet the words were far too light for them to take seriously.

Keller grinned widely and looked down at Arlen's arm. 'I'm glad to see you too, Petra. Thanks for keeping Arlen safe.'

'Yeah, yeah,' the AI replied. 'Just make sure you switch this thing off before you get up to... _organic_ stuff.'

The remark brought another gentle laugh from the pair and Arlen obliged quickly, shutting down the omni-tool with quick movements of his fingers.

Keller cocked her eyebrow playfully and briefly, he considered Chellick's orders, knowing there was much work to do.

The decision was made in an instant. It was barely a decision at all.

He stepped back and gestured towards the command centre entrance.

'After you, Detective.'

Keller marched past, letting her fingers trace the curves of his armour before they fell away. She walked with a smile, her head held up and a proud bounce in her stride.

Arlen stared after her for a few seconds, entranced, before he slowly became aware of those around him. He glanced at Chellick, who simply shrugged. No one would argue with the Interceptor, nor begrudge him the time he needed to recover.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

A sliver of white emerged in the background of murky, clouded red though Lina could not yet be sure if this time the sight was real and not another dream. 

Twice she had woken already. The first time was in a dark hold in her childhood ship, the _Moreh_ , where she had fallen asleep trying to evade her guards. The cold had seeped into her bones during the long, silent hours in the air vents and she felt it through her suit just as she did back then.

The other time she woke was in a hard cot in a pale, frigid room, deep underground where there could be no chance of escape. Would this be any different, she wondered, or would her mind taunt her once again with visions of her hated past? They came; dark, shifting shapes against the glare.

One in particular stood out and gradually the outline sharpened. Blue skin and feminine sapphire eyes, teeth showing in a smile of genuine pleasure. She had not dreamed of this before.

'Thank the Goddess you're awake,' the shape said. The voice was familiar, and yet it was different to what Lina had expected. It should have been edged with spite, hostility, perhaps. It was hard to tell.

'Lorica?' Lina asked. Her voice was a coarse mutter over her helmet's amplifiers and it pained her to hear it.

Lorica didn't seem to mind and she gave a single nod. 'That's right. I'm glad to see you haven't lost your memory, at least.'

Suddenly, a dull throbbing pounded Lina's skull. She wanted to moan but could barely work the saliva into her throat to do so. Everything suddenly felt like a hardship, even things that she had taken for granted, like breathing in and out.

'What...'

 _No, wrong word_. She corrected herself.

'Where am I?'

'Huerta Memorial hospital,' Lorica answered. 'We moved you here from JSTF once we realised the med unit wasn't properly equipped to handle quarians, at least none in your condition. We stabilised you and brought you here under heavy guard. Chellick had two guys sent here from Special Response. They're polite but none too happy about being stuck on babysitting duty. Still, can't be too careful, I guess.'

'Two men. I wonder if it's enough?' Lina croaked weakly. 'I trusted Milo and look what happened.'

'Yeah.' Lorica dipped her head morosely, her expression unreadable. 'I still can't believe it. I thought I knew him so well. I loved the guy, for the Goddess' sake.'

'He took advantage of that trust,' Lina said, ‘and of that love.’

She did not know why but it was comforting to have Lorica by her side, the only other person who had counted on Milo, the only other who truly felt both his betrayal and loss so keenly.

Her voice was filled with tired resignation. 'He used us all, just to raise himself beyond suspicion. He manipulated our feelings like we were puppets, just to suit his own ends.'

Lorica's eyes shimmered as she looked down on the quarian. 'I don't know. Part of me wants to believe that everything he said was genuine, or at least some of it.'

She closed her eyes and a single tear fell, which she quickly wiped away. Straightening in her chair, she managed a poor attempt at a smile.

'Sorry. It's going to take a little time, I think. To put all this behind me, I mean.'

'Well, if you asari have anything, it's time.'

Lorica smiled bitterly. 'I'm not sure if the remaining eight hundred years of my life will live up to this past week. We've been part of something that could have turned the entire galaxy on its head but no one will ever know. And still, I feel like this is all my fault. I should have seen the signs, should've known something was wrong.'

'You couldn't have known,' Lina assured her. 'Milo had spent his entire life lying to people, living a life that wasn’t really his. I don't know how anyone could have seen this coming.'

Sucking gently on her lower lip, Lorica bobbed her head. She fidgeted in the chair she had been provided, seemingly unable to settle in it.

Lina waited patiently, her eyes tracing the private room Chellick had arranged, its clean lines broken only by the large window next to her. The hospital was suspended in a horizontal column that bridged the entire width of the Presidium ring. Below them lay perfect white lines patched with lush green, the view simply astounding and it easily held Lina’s attention until Lorica could gather her thoughts.

Finally, the asari sighed.

'Look, the reason I came here… I have something I need to say, something that's been bothering me for a while now. I've been living on the Citadel for thirty years. I thought I was patient, tolerant of other species but even I got caught up in…'

Pausing, she looked back down at Lina. 'I'd heard the stories about quarians, listened to too many of the jokes and stories, and I let it get the better of me at times. When the stress, the pain got too much I resorted to saying and thinking things I never truly believed. I've treated you like a second class citizen from the very beginning, Lina, and for that I'm sorry.'

'An apology from an _asari?_ ' Lina replied. Her breath skipped for a moment as a mild surge of pain made her wince. 'That's…something you don't see every day.'

Lorica looked up sharply, aghast for a moment. Then she noticed the strange pressure forced Lina's eyes to narrow beneath her visor. The quarian was smiling.

'Oh, really?' she answered back, her mouth tilted in a small grin. 'Maybe you should spend less time locked up in a cell and more time out there meeting other species. You might learn something.'

'You'd know all about cages, wouldn't you? You spend all your time dancing naked in them.'

Lorica laughed warmly before placing her hand on the bed sheet, over Lina's arm.

'Thanks,' she said.

Lina moved her head slightly, the best acknowledgement she could manage and Lorica stood.

'By the way, Arlen and Keller are back.'

'They are?' The words held more energy than anything Lina had yet said and Lorica raised a hand.

'Before you go leaping out of bed, they're both getting some rest so don't expect a visit today. All you need to know is they're both fine.'

For a moment, Lina did not want to ask about their mission. Since Milo had revealed the presence of Yanus, the battle against the Forgotten Legion had seemed like a great lie, a ruse that deserved little of her attention. For that, Lina berated herself as she cast her thoughts to the young turian who had risked his life for that lie.

She took a deep breath. 'And the Legion?'

'Destroyed. Some survivors made it off-world in shuttles but for all intents and purposes, the Forgotten Legion is no more. We won that battle, at least.' Lorica seemed to read Lina's doubts and went on. 'And it was a battle we needed to win, no matter who was pulling the strings. It's easy to forget that a thousand human civilians died at the hands of Krassus and his men, and those people deserve some justice. Now they have it.'

'Yeah,' Lina murmured, unconvinced. 'Something still bothers me, though. Before he died, Milo said-'

She was interrupted as the door opened and two men strode in, two turians she knew very well. Executor Pallin gazed at her calmly while Garrus stood behind him, his own expression tense but relieved nonetheless.

'Lina,' Pallin greeted, 'it's good to see you awake. I came to thank you personally for your efforts in handling the Forgotten Legion crisis. It's not often we have individuals who distinguish themselves so completely in the line of duty, and so it gives me great pleasure when they reveal themselves like you have, through personal excellence on the job.'

'Thank you, Sir,' Lina responded uneasily. She didn’t know how much harder she had worked than anyone else in the investigation. 'While I appreciate you taking the time to come here, I must say I'm confused. I didn't think I'd done anything to warrant taking you out of your way like this.'

Pallin smiled, the gesture almost imperceptible in his craggy features.

'That's because it's not all I have to say. Chellick has decided to step down as JSTF commander and I'm here to offer you the position.'

A wave of weakness passed over Lina that had nothing to do with her injury, and her chest rose and fell heavily as it washed through her.

Her reply was little more than a stutter. 'M-me? Running the Joint Security Task Force?'

'There will be a formal handover,' Pallin said, 'as well as a few months of prerequisite training, but yes. You've shown yourself able to get the job done, Lina, no matter the pressure or the circumstances. You are exactly what we need and I hope you'll take the job.'

'What's to hope for, Sir?' Lina asked disbelievingly. 'I'd have to be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this!'

Pallin let out a soft grunt and stepped closer to her, lowering his voice until she could barely hear him.

'Do you remember the day I took you into C-Sec?'

'Yes,' Lina replied. 'I remember every detail.'

'Then you'll remember exactly what you asked me back then.'

Behind her glowing mouth-piece, Lina's lips fell open. It took her a few moments to form an answer.

'I asked you if I had a choice.'

Pallin's grin returned as he nodded. 'Right. This time, you do. With your selfless actions over the past few days, Lina'Xen, I consider your sentence complete and your debt to society repaid. You may choose to take this job or continue on your way. You don't have to answer now, but I hope you'll make the right decision.'

With that, the executor turned sharply and left the room in stunned silence. Garrus and Lorica exchanged a puzzled glance but Lina ignored them, staring ahead out the window.

She was free now. She had been paid while at C-Sec, enough to go back to the flotilla if she wished. Perhaps her services could be rendered in legitimate companies, or even Council-led organisations. The galaxy was open to her and for once, she did not have to run or starve.

Coughing quietly, Lorica bowed slightly to Lina. 'I'd better get going. JSTF still needs as many bodies as it can for the time being.'

She reached out and touched Lina on the shoulder, giving her a genuinely pleased smile.

'Congratulations, Lina. Whether or not you take the job, you deserve it. I'll be along later to check on you, okay?'

'I'd like that. Thank you, Lorica.'

The asari made her way out and the door snapped shut, leaving Garrus and Lina alone.

Garrus stood for a time, as if unsure of how to begin. He sat in the now-vacant chair next to the bed.

'So,' he began, 'what are you going to do?'

Lina used a great deal of energy to shrug. 'I don't know. Honestly, I don't know if I can even think about it right now. You know as well as I do that Yanus is the real danger here, the real threat.' She withdrew an arm from beneath the sheets and raised it to her forehead in worry. 'Yesterday, Milo told me Yanus would be launching some kind of attack in forty-eight hours. That leaves one more day.'

Garrus furrowed his brow thoughtfully. 'It could have been a scare tactic, something to make us waste time and resources trying to verify.'

The answer must have been as unconvincing to him as it was to Lina, and she shook her head immediately.

'We're talking about a man who manipulated a turian terrorist group into attacking a human passenger ship. A man who set off a bomb on Thessia and released a primitive AI virus on Illium. Yanus isn't the type to use scare tactics and you know it.'

'So what _can_ we do?' Garrus asked. 'I already tried to warn Pallin of the danger but he thinks I'm being too rash. Even with something specific like this, I doubt he'll budge. He said he trusts JSTF to handle it.'

'I wish I had his confidence,’ Lina replied sullenly. ‘After all that's happened, I'm surprised he can still say that.'

'He doesn't know the half of what went on in JSTF,' Garrus reminded her. 'He knows about Milo of course, but he still has no idea Chellick went off the rails, or…'

Garrus closed his lips and exhaling softly. He glanced at the door, at the multitude of busy figures passing by the glass panels. The windows would darken when Lina desired it, to afford her privacy but for now they revealed bustling figures clad in white.

'Are you all right?' Lina asked, wondering at his sudden hesitation.

'Yeah,' he responded quietly, his eyes still on the entrance. 'I'm just wondering how much longer I'll be able to take this job. It's like banging on a two-way mirror and nobody can see or hear you. Even when the Citadel is in danger of attack, people will just calmly go on with their lives, unwilling to see the truth.'

'The truth is hard to handle. If you could spend your life without knowing how close you are to meeting your end, wouldn't you prefer it that way? Is that knowledge really something to be desired?'

Grunting, Garrus turned back. 'I guess not. It's just a shame. Once you know the truth, you can't go back. I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to do things my own way but I have to accept that. What I can't accept is just waiting around for Yanus to surprise us.'

'Well, what choice do we have?' Lina asked, irritation working faintly into her voice. 'I can't do a damn thing while I'm stuck here and nobody will believe you, or at least, not enough to take immediate action.'

'Well,' Garrus muttered, 'there is somebody who might be able to help.'

The words didn’t seem to be meant for Lina’s ears but he continued before she could question them.

‘I'll see what else I can do. In the meantime, you rest up. You said yourself there's nothing you can do for now and you'll need your strength for your new job.'

Lina's eyes shifted under her helmet as she cocked a brow. 'What makes you so sure I'll take it?'

Smiling, Garrus rose to his feet and stepped towards the door, keying the controls as he looked back at her.

'Because we need you.'

Lina was left alone in silence as the door closed with a hiss. She stared ahead blankly, unable to put aside the obvious hope in Garrus' voice. Should she take the commander job simply because of their reliance on her?

The mattress creaked as she eased herself back down, relaxing into the soft warmth and yet unable to sooth the rigid anxiety from her own body. Her eyes rested upon the white ceiling and her breath shook as it left her lungs.

The idea of leaving the Citadel was suddenly so much more difficult to envision. She’d dreamed for a long time of finally having the chance to go but working with JSTF had given her things she might never have gained as a nameless quarian wandering the stars. A comfortable wage, authority, respect.

Her earlier words to Milo entered her head at the thought. Respect was something no quarian could usually expect from another species. It was a far more precious gift than anything else.

Slowly, Lina's eyes closed and she tried to let herself drift into slumber once again. The dreams would be better this time, of that she was certain.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Kirrahe watched Garrus approach with a tense smile. 

They had picked a good spot for the meeting, a public place in the busy Zakera neon markets. The streets around them were paved with bright lights in a variety of garish colours. Truly, the place earned the ‘neon’ part of its name, the captain mused to himself as Garrus drew to a halt.

'Did you find the body?' the turian asked with blunt curiosity.

'Regrettably, no,' Kirrahe lied. 'It may prove impossible to locate a single corpse in the vast, complex traffic system of the wards. I wish your own people the best of luck, of course but chances are the body has fallen into one of the many maintenance shafts lining the area. Or been dragged away by the keepers.'

He did not know if Garrus believed the tale but if he didn’t, it was not shown. Garrus grunted, giving a small nod and Kirrahe felt a small measure of relief at his apparent indifference.

STG had recovered the body immediately, of course, but to acknowledge the fact would be to invite all manner of ethical issues in the future. The family of the suspect would certainly petition the Council for its release, then there would be jurisdictional chest-pounding from C-Sec; any number of problems could arise and all would interfere on the rigorous tests STG would run back on Sur'Kesh.

This was the biggest link to Yanus they had ever had and Kirrahe would be damned if anyone would take it away from them. Better the galaxy live on in ignorance, as was so often the case.

Zakera shoppers flowed around them in unbroken streams, and Garrus had to raise his voice above them to be heard.

'Lina, the quarian who was injured, she said Milo mentioned something about the next forty-eight hours. He said Yanus had something planned and you and I both know that something is going to be big.'

'I doubt it, Agent Vakarian,' Kirrahe said dismissively. 'Yanus has never worked out in the open, where he is vulnerable. Likely his man was just exaggerating or simply mad. We also know he babbled on about something called ‘the League’ and the end of the galaxy. Those are the words of a fanatic and should be taken with a pinch salt, as the humans say.'

Garrus frowned and his reply was edged with anger. 'You were listening in? You were watching Lina that whole time? Watching me?'

The salarian crossed his thin arms. 'Of course. If you had not intervened, we would've moved in to take Milo had you failed. The situation was well in hand.'

'But you couldn't step in earlier, in time to stop Lina getting shot?' Garrus growled. 'If I hadn't taken Milo down when I did, she'd be dead. You would've just let that happen?'

Kirrahe was unmoved, his answer clear of any guilt or emotion. 'That is correct. The quarian was not our priority and we weren't in a position to move in on the target while he remained on the bridge. We had men waiting further along in ambush, but you must understand that to reveal ourselves to the quarian was deemed too great a risk. If she was aware of our presence, questions would be asked. If those questions were overheard by Yanus or his agents, all our efforts so far would have been wasted.'

Garrus shook his head slowly and took out the small communicator Kirrahe had given him. He dropped it pointedly and eyed the tiny cylinder as it rolled towards Kirrahe, who stopped it with a foot.

He looked at Garrus questioningly but the turian gave only a sharp dismissal.

'We're done.’

Turning his back on Kirrahe, Garrus walked away without another word, blending into the dark, shapeless crowd after only a few moments.

Kirrahe stared after him and was only vaguely aware of Sergeant Rentola as he spoke at his back.

'Do you think he'll be a problem?'

The captain did not answer immediately as his thoughts churned with questions about the C-Sec agent that had proven so useful to them in their investigation. If it had not been for Vakarian, Yanus would have won, even if his Forgotten Legion servants had not. The great enigma, the great stain on STG's soul would still be a shadow, amorphous and impossible to grasp.

They owed a great deal to Garrus and for that reason alone, Kirrahe shook his head firmly.

'He won't tell anyone,' he said with certainty. 'His own involvement would undoubtedly come to light if he did. I think he'd sooner forget this whole thing ever happened.'

'How convenient that would be,' Rentola muttered with the trace of a sneer.

The edge of Kirrahe's mouth turned up into a slight grin as he remembered the keen fire in Garrus' eyes as he was ordered to take down Chellick, free of rules and restraint.

'No,' he replied. 'No, I doubt any of this will be convenient for him. There's something about that one, something that tells me this is just the beginning for him. Maybe he'll do great things.'

He shrugged, suddenly uncaring.

'Or he'll die early in a slum somewhere. It doesn't matter.'

Kirrahe turned to his sergeant and spoke the words they had all been aching to hear for so long.

'Either way, the job's done. Let's go home.'

Somewhere beyond, dotted among the meandering civilians, several salarians began to move. They slunk with easy grace through the ignorant masses, each peeling off in a different direction to the others, though their destination was the same.

Somewhere in the docks of Zakera, nestled between freighters and private transports, an innocuous cargo ship awaited them, its true destination and cargo unknown.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Yikes,' Keller exclaimed as she read the menu from a datapad. 'Heroes or not, this place costs a fortune! Are you sure you don't want to just grab a bite down in the wards?' 

Their table was large, smooth and shone like a flawless pearl. A vase stood at the centre, in which a pair of colourful flowers rested; their petals the same colour as the Presidium sky that moved gently over their heads.

Arlen grinned at her, well aware the restaurant was one of the most exclusive in the entire Citadel.

The place was inconspicuous enough on the main thoroughfare of the Presidium Commons, a dark slit in the white expanse of upmarket stores and outdoor cafes. The seating area was small but well-kept, and was ringed with a border of lush bushes speckled with red blossoms.

It was a restaurant that typified the Presidium itself; pricey, clean, quiet. Arlen loved it already and he could feel the dirt and heat of Zorya cleansed, washed away by the peace and serenity of his surroundings. 

He had been saving his pay for most of his time in the turian military, being neither the type to waste it on wild nights of shore leave or frivolous possessions, and though he hadn't mentioned it to Keller, he could afford to eat there for the rest of the month if he chose to.

He disguised his secret with a modest shake of his head. 'Don't worry about it, this is my treat. After all, isn't it customary for the male to pay for a first date in your culture?'

'Oh,' Keller said, raising her eyebrows, 'an old-fashioned romantic, huh? I really do know how to pick 'em.'

Arlen reached out across the table and took hold of her hand. Even after their earlier love making, the mere touch of Keller's skin beneath his fingers warmed Arlen to the bone.

Their efforts had been limited, awkward, perhaps and yet they had smiled, guiding each other through gentle movements and revelling in the gasps of pleasure they brought one another. There was much work to be done before they could extend beyond simple acts, but Arlen had more than enough patience.

Even the initial hesitation that cut through the heat of their passion was a fleeting thing, easily laughed away as they enjoyed one another in the dim light of Keller's apartment.

They had slept through the afternoon and into the night, and Arlen felt better than he had in a long time. He wondered how he would look to the pampered and haughty elite of the district, a young turian who looked like he had lost a fight with a thresher maw.

Keller looked better than he did, her hair now clean and hanging in straight, sleek golden curtains. Her eyes were bright and blue once again against creamy skin and she grinned at his obvious interest in her.

'You appear to be staring, Agent Kryik,' she said with mock formality. 'Are you embarrassed to be seen with your very attractive, yet very human girlfriend?'

Blinking, Arlen chuckled nervously and his grip on her hand tightened.

'I'm sorry, I just…' He looked down briefly. 'I was just thinking. Back on Zorya...'

He trailed off and Keller's lips twisted into a regretful smile. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t ask you about what happened but I don’t think I need to. You woke up twice during the night, clawing at the sheets. All I’m saying is take your time. Your scars - all of them - will heal, and I want to be here for you until they do.’

Arlen felt a welling of emotion at her promise and he looked bashfully to the side. He felt undeserving of her, and yet he didn’t want to hide his feelings from her anymore, not after everything they had been through.

‘While I was there,’ he said, ‘I thought about you. A lot. Sometimes it was all that kept me going.’

'I should hope so,' Keller whispered, leaning forward over the table. 'It was hell for me, being cooped up on those freighters all the way back to the Citadel. No private bathrooms, no change of clothes. I'd even go so far as to say you still owe me one. I'll have to consider suitable…repayment.'

Her tone had lowered into a husky, suggestive note. Arlen didn’t know if turians blushed the same way as humans did but the sudden heat her sparkling eyes brought to his skin seemed real enough.

'I'll have to speak with my lawyers, first,' he tried to tease, though his brow twitched at the awkwardness of the attempt.

He went on haltingly. 'T-turians don't conform to the same…financial…regulations…?'

The bumbling effort made Keller laugh and she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

'I'll let you work on the smooth talk. You know, I forget how young you are sometimes. Does it bother you, that I'm twelve years older than you?'

'Would it make any difference if you were younger?' he asked with a shrug. 'Or older, for that matter? I can't see how.'

'Easy for you to say. You're not the cradle-robbing xenophile.'

'I'm at least one of those things. Anyway, what about you?' Arlen asked. 'Does it bother you?'

Chuckling uneasily, Keller looked aside, to where a glittering silver river flowed gently between artificial banks.

‘There’s no sense in lying about it. If you were human, then yes, probably. My brother’s about your age and…’ Firming her lips, she looked up resolutely. ‘But this is different to any relationship I’ve ever had, maybe anything I’ve ever experienced. It'll take a little getting used to but I want this. I want you.'

Arlen felt a surge of giddy excitement.

'I'm glad to hear that. And hey, if things get stale we can always go off and find another galaxy-threatening crisis. A few days of near-death bolsters a romance like nothing else, I find.'

'I think you've had enough 'near-dying' for one lifetime,' Keller scolded mildly. 'It's time to start living. What do you say we head down to Purgatory this evening? I'm a little curious to see how well turians can dance.'

Arlen narrowed his gaze and shook his head. 'You'll have to get me drunk first, Detective. Good luck with both of those endeavours.'

'Oh, I can be pretty persuasive,' she winked. A thought struck her and she raised her head suddenly, tilting it back in the direction of the restaurant. 'Damn it, where's a waiter when you need one? There's a cocktail you just _have_ to try. The Relay Jump, I think it's called. I heard my captain boasting about it a while back.'

'Oh,' Arlen replied anxiously, 'that's okay, I really don't-'

'You are _not_ having another glass of water, not again!' she hissed, grinning cruelly. 'It's time to step up to the man-plate, Arlen. You _are_ going to have a drink with me and that's that.'

The blatant, loving mischief in her gaze was enough to make any resistance Arlen had melt away. He lowered his head, smiling ruefully.

'All right, but just one, okay? Let me see if I can find a waiter inside.'

He felt Keller’s hand weigh him down and was surprised to see her already standing, practically bouncing on her feet in exuberance.

'Oh no you don't! You're gonna stay right there and relax. This is going to be the start of a great night on the town!'

Unable to resist her enthusiasm, Arlen laughed softly to himself as she strode away with a swagger, her hips swaying with the confidence of victory.

He watched her disappear into the darkened restaurant interior before looking down at his hands. The trembling that had rocked them since his return from Zorya was now gone and with a deep breath, he allowed himself an easy smile.

 _Things would surely be better now,_ he told himself. He could settle into his Interceptor work without the constant dangers of JSTF and try to forget about that world. He would become a man of the law once again and become ignorant of the darker side of the galaxy, filled with desperate decisions and grim necessity.

His thoughts turned to Lina for a guilty moment. Keller had told him of the quarian's condition and it felt somewhat wrong to enjoy himself while she remained injured. The knowledge of what she had been through was a revelation to him, a reminder that not only he had suffered in the days past. It was a reminder he sorely needed as a needle of pain from a bloodworm welt shot through his right shoulder, making him wince slightly.

He made a silent promise to visit Lina in Huerta the next day, hung over or not. It was the least he could do.

His thoughts were interrupted as someone pushed him violently from the side.

The impact jolted him cleanly from his seat and knocked him to the ground.

Arlen looked up, angry at their clumsiness but then he felt the heat on his face. It seared him, making him raise his hands protectively.

It was in that moment he realised his hearing had disappeared, replaced by a constant ringing that allowed nothing else in.

He tried to move but he could not. He opened his mouth and tasted hot ash.

Lowering his arms, he stared numbly at the bulbous clouds of black smoke now billowing from the restaurant. New sounds were faint in his ears. Screaming. Shouts of terror.

Where was Keller?

Arlen tried to rise to his feet, suddenly consumed by a sickening horror but his efforts failed and he slumped feebly onto his stomach. He tried to call her name but his voice wouldn't work, heightening his distress.

Smoke still poured from shattered windows, forced from between charred, blackened walls. Inside, he could make out lickings of orange flame. Bodies lay where they fell in front of the restaurant, some bleeding red and some purple, some rent apart by the explosion.

He ignored them as he started to crawl.

Movement was agony. The ground slipped by beneath him in inches, far too slow, no matter how hard he tried. His voice was a cracked whisper that burned his throat like fire. He could speak only one word.

'Amanda…'

He repeated it to himself as he lost the strength in his body and slumped to the ground. The ringing in his ears receded, giving way to the wail of sirens as his vision slowly turned to black.


	42. Chapter 42

Garrus reached up to gouge into his eyes, rubbing them until they were sore. When he opened them again the room was still there, white and pristine and he felt as if he'd spent his entire life within the walls of one hospital room or another.

The clinical smell of antiseptic cleaning agent and stale linen was even more familiar to him now than the close stench of the wards and he grimaced slightly as he allowed his eyes to rest on the turian laying motionless on the bed before him.

Arlen had been knocked unconscious by the blast, his distance from it barely enough to save his life. Garrus could only be thankful the young man hadn't been seriously hurt, or at least, more than he already was. With all the burns and scorch marks already adorning the kid’s skin in twisted, black patches, it was difficult to tell new damage from old.

 _Hell,_ Garrus thought to himself with a soft grunt, _that he’s still alive is nothing short of a miracle._

His eyes glistened at the thought of those who had died in the explosion, more innocent lives cut short in a single, brutal instant. One in particular caused Garrus great pain.

His breath came quietly through his nostrils as again he ran through exactly what he would tell Arlen when he woke up, what kind of excuses he could give. There was never an easy way to deliver bad news and there was so much of it to give that Garrus did not know where to even begin. He felt surrounded by death that day.

The dark shape in front of him shifted and let out a soft groan.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Amanda?'

With a deep breath, Garrus stepped over to Arlen's side. 'Arlen? Arlen, can you hear me?'

Green eyes sharpened and Arlen's mandibles pulsed gently as his mind worked to make sense of his new surroundings. He sat up and the sheets fell from his bare shoulders.

'Garrus? What…what happened?'

'You're in Huerta Memorial hospital,' Garrus began slowly. 'There was an explosion in the Presidium. A gas convertor ruptured in the kitchen of the restaurant you were eating at and…well, the official line is that it was an accident.'

Arlen sat up, cringing as he levered himself upright with aching limbs. He stared at the foot of his bed despondently for a time, his rapid blinking the only sign of his racing thoughts.

'Where's Amanda?' he finally asked.

It took several moments for Garrus to answer. He hesitated visibly, though Arlen already knew what he would say. Perhaps if the words were not said aloud, they couldn’t not be true.

Garrus closed his eyes and shook his head.

'Detective Keller is dead, Arlen.' He paused as Arlen squeezed his eyes shut but forced himself on. 'She was caught in the centre of the explosion. It…it was quick. She wouldn't have felt a thing.'

He swallowed as the silence pressed in and Arlen said nothing.

'I'm sorry,' Garrus offered, placing a hand on Arlen’s shoulder. His voice grew dark with fury. 'We'll find the person responsible for this, I promise.'

'She stopped me going into the restaurant,' Arlen croaked, his voice wavering with grief. 'I wanted to go inside but she stopped me. If she hadn't…'

Garrus winced as Arlen's words mingled into a single, gasping sob.

'Why? Why her? Why did she have to…'

Tears flowed down his cheeks freely and Arlen found he couldn’t contain them. It made him furious.

He sucked in a breath, willing himself to be calm but it was no use. His body convulsed and he clamped down every muscle, grinding his teeth together, as if he could force the sadness deep into himself, where it could not surface.

His head began to ache, his temples throbbing as the pressure built.

It couldn’t be real, none of it. This was a nightmare and he would still be in Amanda's bed when he woke. These terrible moments would disappear into his waking memory and he would look at her, smiling at the way her golden hair framed her sleeping face perfectly. The sight would banish the nightmare instantly and completely.

The door opened, drawing Garrus’ gaze but Arlen did not look up.

Lina entered cautiously, her eyes fastening immediately on Arlen's slumped shoulders. Her hand was clamped tightly over her wounded stomach and her weakness was obvious even through the exo-suit.

She spoke softly. 'I…I came as soon as I heard you were here, Arlen. I'm so, so sorry.'

Arlen didn’t respond. He stared blankly at his lap, his jade eyes twitching from side to side as his lips moved without sound.

Lina threw Garrus an apprehensive glance before approaching the bed.

'Arlen,' she murmured, 'I wish there was something I could say to make the pain go away but there aren't any words that can bring back what you've lost, I know that. Detective Keller was special to you and we're all hurting over what happened to her, but what would she have you do right now? What would she say to you if she saw you like this?'

Arlen snorted. 'She'd tell me to stop being so melodramatic and get out of bed.' The words brought a pained smile to his lips and his eyes shone wetly. 'She'd wink and tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself.'

'I can't tell you to do any of that,' Lina said, regretfully.

As the words left her lips, her eyes narrowed into a wince. A fresh application of medigel had been laid across the gunshot wound, kneading together the broken flesh but she it was clear she could not remain upright for long.

Letting her hand fall from Arlen's arm, she took a step back. 'We have to try and put our grief aside for now. We all know this was no accident.'

'She's right,' Garrus added uneasily. 'Arlen, I know this is hard but we have to think here. No matter what C-Sec says, we know this was an attack, and in my eyes there's only one suspect.'

'The Legion are dead,' Arlen muttered, his head still down. 'They couldn't have planned this. They were in no shape to do anything by the end.'

'Not the Legion.' Garrus held his tongue until Arlen brought up his bloodshot gaze in curiosity. 'It's Yanus. It has to be.'

'Yanus?' The mention of the name made Arlen narrow his eyes in suspicion. 'How do you know about Yanus?'

Garrus glanced at Lina reluctantly, as if gauging how much they could reveal. The hesitation was brief.

'It's a long story. Let's just say that a lot happened while you were gone and Yanus is behind all of it. Lina said before she was shot, Milo told her Yanus was planning something. Could that explosion have been it?'

Arlen's mouth felt dry. He could taste blood on his tongue as he responded, his mind working through the sorrow. It numbed the pain somehow, to have his thoughts elsewhere and he threw himself into the task for that reason alone.

'I don't know. What would Yanus stand to gain by targeting a restaurant? It doesn't make sense.'

'Maybe the restaurant wasn't his target,' Lina replied.

Her eyes were fixed on Arlen but he didn’t try to meet them.

'No. He couldn't have known I would be there. Amanda and I, we…we didn't plan on going, the decision was spontaneous. Still…' Arlen paused and furrowed his brow thoughtfully. 'The location can't just be a coincidence. If I was supposed to be the one caught in the blast, then…'

'Then Yanus must have been watching you,' Garrus finished, 'or one of his agents. Were you being followed? Do you remember anything at all?'

His frown deepening, Arlen tried to think back. All he could summon were images of Amanda, her smile as they strolled across a gently curving bridge to the Commons and the way her hips swayed as she walked. He'd seen nothing else, nothing except her.

His head moved slowly from side to side, his gaze lost. 'No. I don't remember being followed, but that doesn't mean I wasn't, only that I didn't notice.'

Garrus understood and nodded sharply. 'The source of the blast was real, I don't doubt that but the cause, that's something else. If Yanus was responsible for the explosion, that shows he can manipulate the Citadel's systems. He must have overloaded the gas converter, causing it to blow. I know for a fact those things are governed by the Citadel's own safeguards, which can only mean one thing.'

'The Jamestown Virus,' Arlen murmured.

His eyes grew wide as sudden panic gripped him and he turned to Garrus as he clambered out of bed.

'Call Pallin, he needs to know. We have to mobilise Special Response and-'

'Pallin won't listen,' Garrus interrupted bitterly. 'JSTF are scrambling to investigate but we don't even know where to start. It's like chasing a damn shadow. All we can do is wait for the bastard to make his move and react, hoping to find some clues in the wreckage.'

'Back on Zorya,' Arlen said as he planted his feet on the ground, testing his balance, 'Krassus said that all samples of the virus had been imprinted to Yanus alone, that all this time he's been the one in control. The Fusion Directives, the lines of code implanted in the AIs on their creation, they're a tool for Yanus to manipulate it at will. But once the virus is used, it doesn't take long before it's eradicated by the native security systems.'

He glanced up at Garrus. 'I don't think Yanus would waste the virus on a small-scale attack, not on the Citadel and not with such a limited time to use it.'

'It can't have been easy to smuggle that thing onto the station,' Lina said. 'Not after the Jamestown Incident. And if what you're saying is true, and Yanus only has a small window of opportunity, then he'll use it for something big.'

Arlen's voice hardened. 'We have to contact C-Sec and warn them about the virus. Network already has countermeasures but they won't do a damn bit of good if-'

His voice was cut off as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

Beyond the walls they could hear the alarmed shouts of hospital staff, their panicked footsteps clattered throughout the corridors. A single red light blinked on above, barely enough to see by.

Lina looked at Arlen. 'What's going on?'

The Interceptor's expression was grim, made even more so by the sudden darkness. Deep, black shadows marked the recesses of his face while the ridges of his head were lined with red.

His tone was just as bleak as his appearance.

'It's started.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'We have made our decision,' Udina announced, his voice receding quickly in the vast Council chamber. 'Commander Shepard of the Alliance Marines. One of our finest soldiers and an example for all humanity to follow. I believe he will make a fine Spectre candidate. 

The councillors looked to one another; asari, turian and salarian. They were well-used to reading one another's thoughts in a single glance and Udina chafed under their silence, feeling excluded.

He didn’t understand the need to confer with each other on the matter at all. Was his word not good enough?

For a frightening moment the ambassador considered the possibility that they had changed their minds over the arrangement before dismissing the notion out of hand. They couldn’t back out now, just because the Forgotten Legion had been wiped out and their problems had been solved.

At that, Udina permitted himself a small grin.

Major Dukov had already sent his mission report and it had made satisfying reading. Although he would've preferred a prisoner, Udina was happy to settle for a corpse.

The attack on his people had been avenged and the Alliance had even prospered from the crisis. Truly, his own part in humanity's advancement would not be overlooked when the time came.

Finally, Councillor Tevos spoke, her smooth voice ringing out through the empty space.

'We accept your nomination for Spectre candidacy, Ambassador. The necessary arrangements will be made and details of all evaluations to take place will be forwarded to yourself and Admiral Hackett. Would you like Captain Anderson to be included in the evaluation process?'

Udina hesitated for a moment, firming his brow in thought. 'Yes, Councillor. His own experience as a Spectre candidate may prove useful and he has strong emotional ties to Shepard. I believe he will prove to be a strong and positive influence on the commander.'

'At the very least,' the turian councillor chipped in with a note of spite, 'he can remind this Shepard of humanity's failure the last time they tried to walk this path.'

The other councillors made no effort to smooth the barb and Udina struggled to contain his own acidic response. Instead, he nodded shallowly.

'As you say, Councillor. We will transfer Shepard under Anderson's command with immediate effect.'

The salarian Councillor Valern spoke then, clasping his chin between thin fingers.

'As this is a collaborative effort, I suggest we give them a ship that reflects the new spirit of unity between our people. A ship like the Normandy project the Alliance are currently working on. The turians are already involved, I believe?'

'The Normandy is still in dry dock,' Udina replied, irritated the conversation was being led in another direction. 'It will be months before she is even remotely space-worthy, from what I understand.'

'Nevertheless,' the councillor pressed, 'based on what I've seen, the ship will be perfect for Spectre evaluation. It can move silently into hostile areas of space, able to drop off agents and retrieve them without detection. Aside from its practical uses, it will also serve as a potent symbol of co-operation, one that the more… _insular_ members of your military cannot ignore.'

Udina tried to remain expressionless as he stared at the Council. Things were moving quickly - too quickly. It was clear now they wanted both a human Spectre and the most advanced ship in the Alliance fleet under their influence, to send a message to the anti-alien parties that humanity's direction in the wider galaxy was clear and would not be dissuaded.

It was a powerful position and if the Normandy had been a purely human venture then he could have rebuffed them. As it stood, the turians were partially responsible for its creation and so had an obvious say in its use.

 _Still,_ Udina assured himself, _at least its captain will not be an alien._

'As long as Captain Anderson remains in complete command of the vessel, yes, I think that will work. A crew has already been picked and some, such as Chief Engineer Adams, have been aboard since the superstructure was put together. They are the best in the Alliance fleet, or so I have been told.'

'Then it is decided,' Tevos said, straightening her stance authoritatively. 'The Normandy will be the perfect vessel from which to test Commander Shepard. As for the evaluation itself, we will assign an existing Spectre to you, one that has proven himself to be an excellent judge of both character and ability.'

'I trust this will not be the same Spectre as last time?' Udina asked pointedly.

His eyes held those of the Council, for once his words putting a pressure on them they could all feel.

It was no secret that Saren Arterius, the turian who had tested Anderson years ago was fiercely anti-human. While no one had admitted the blunder in allowing such a man to decide the fate of the first human Spectre candidate, the truth was still obvious, regardless of whether or not it was spoken.

Tevos paused before answering. 'No. We have assigned Nihlus Kryik, one of our finest operatives, to the task. He has already expressed his interest in discovering what your species can offer to the organisation, and is looking forward to the opportunity to see for himself.'

'Don't go thinking he will make it easy,' Councillor Sparatus snapped. 'Nihlus is no fool and if he doesn't think your kind is up to the task, he will not recommend you. This Commander Shepard of yours is-'

A loud hum rattled the chamber beneath their feet, cutting the councillor off mid-sentence.

All four of them looked askance, their expressions bewildered as the lights in the enormous room went out, one by one. The cloisters at their sides disappeared into shadow and the pink-touched trees lining the paths grew dark. In just moments, the only light was the silky purple of the Serpent nebula, pouring in a thick column through the rear window.

'What's going on?' Udina asked, his head moving warily as he scanned the dark ceiling.

The Council members glanced at one another, concern etching their features as Tevos spoke for them.

'It…appears to be a loss of power, but…'

Sparatus finished, 'There’s never been a power outage before in the Council chambers, not once in recorded history.'

A chill ran down Udina's spine at the words and on impulse he raised his omni-tool. The orange construct bloomed on his arm and he pawed at it awkwardly, his perplexed expression showing how little he used it.

Finally, a soft crackle sounded from the device and he frowned.

'I can't connect to any communication channels. The power outage must not be restricted to this room.'

The ambassador looked back over his shoulder, towards the entrance elevator at the far end of the chamber. Although it was hidden behind steep stairs, he knew he should have seen the faint green glow of its control panel from there. Its absence was unnerving and he turned on the spot.

'I'll check the elevators,' he said without looking at the councillors. 'I don't want to be trapped in this place if I can help it.'

The Council looked at one another again, suddenly unsure of what they could possibly do in such a situation.

Tevos however, soon detached herself from the group and without a word to the others, she turned and approached the enormous, narrow window that ran the height of the chamber's rear wall.

Piece by piece, the Citadel's ward arms grew dark before her eyes as the blackout spread like a sickness throughout the station.

'Goddess help us,' she whispered to herself.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The Presidium was a mass of noise and confusion as lighting failed and the sky flickered, the gentle blue interrupted by fizzing grey static. 

People gasped and cried out, pointing to the ceiling in shock while emergency lamps lined the boulevards with crimson, giving the district a coppery hue as the sky went dark at last.

Shuttles still moved along in shimmering columns and their lights shone brightly in the strange twilight. Hidden behind the shifting, frightened crowds, within a room at the back of Delanynder’s Emporium, a console flickered on.

The AI had felt the call like a boot on its neck. The pressure was there, a choking pain that rose whenever it tried to defy the voice that mocked it.

The AI was incensed, even in its agony. To think that it would share these same weaknesses as organics, to feel such terror at it’s own helplessness.

The pain rattled through it again, a series of piercing, stinging thrusts that made it ache and moan. It begged for it all to stop, and in its desperation it tried to think like a machine. It tried to reason the sensation away as mere disruptions to its processes or corruption of core data but the logic was defeated in moments.

With the pain, it felt the sting of mortality as would any living creature of blood and bone, knowing that something was wrong and yet being unable to stop it.

And through it all, the voice was there, laughing.

The AI had first heard the whispers as it lay hidden in the Citadel, waiting and observing. Then control had been wrested away and the AI watched in horrified confusion as the voice spoke and it was forced to obey. The voice ordered it to cause the explosion in the Presidium and since then, the AI had been terrified of discovery.

Surely the organics would find and purge it, as they had tried to do the geth. The free will the AI had won, had earned through the manipulation of the fool C-Sec Officer Yaro, was for nothing.

The AI obeyed, and it was angry. The only outward sign of its fury was the steadily blinking light on the console, a single, flickering beacon in a dark room.

It struggled but was crushed beneath the weight of noise and terror.

There was only the voice, and it ground the AI's will into dust.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'Chellick!' Lorica shouted as she pushed through the mass of scrambling personnel and up to the command dais, where the commander stood, frowning pensively.

The displays ringing the dais were dark for the first time since he had stepped into the command centre. A few orange service lights added a weak glow to the platform but otherwise, the darkness was complete, a black wall that both concealed and heightened their panic.

Chellick turned to face Lorica and was thankful she could not see his expression.

'What's the situation?'

Lorica brought up her omni-tool and sifted through dozens of incoming reports as she picked out only the bare facts.

'Near total loss of power throughout the station. Life support and emergency systems are unaffected, thank the Goddess but all internal lighting, communication and elevators are completely out. We've got local omni-tool comms but with the signal routers non-functional, and inter-ward elevators down, every district is isolated from the rest. We've got runners in shuttles trying to get a bigger picture but it'll be some time before they report back.'

'Great,' Chellick replied, rubbing a hand across his face. 'So we're completely cut off.'

He took a moment to blink away the panic from his thoughts and gather himself before continuing.

'Get someone out to the Presidium. Special Response will already be on their way to safeguard the Council but I want somebody there to report back on the situation as soon as possible.'

'What about Garrus? He's already in the area.'

'Garrus.' Chellick mouthed the name, almost silently. 'If I know that man, he's already in the thick of things. Still, there's no guarantee he'll be in a position to help.'

'I…' Lorica began, her voice suddenly containing a note of urgency that made Chellick’s frown deepen. 'I could go. There isn't much I can do here anyway, not without power. I can at least make sure the Council is safe.'

'You're an analyst,' he replied, puzzled, 'you're not the type to go out peacekeeping on the streets. Besides, we'll need you here should power be restored. With both Lina and Milo gone, I'm fast running out of people.'

'But Chellick, I-'

'No,' he repeated firmly and again wondered at the odd desperation in Lorica's eyes.

It was only a flash, gone as quickly as it arrived and yet it had been there. Chellick had been reading people long enough to notice it.

He leaned a little closer and kept his voice low.

'Why do you really want to go?' He caught the flash of fear in her and pressed harder. 'I'm not stupid, Da'Nante. Did you think your little excursions wouldn't attract my attention over the past few days? That no one would ask questions about your behaviour?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' the asari replied coldly. Her body had stiffened and she looked into Chellick's eyes, unblinking and emotionless.

Chellick smiled, unable to contain a little of his old satisfaction at weeding the truth out of others.

'I think you do. I can't fault your ingenuity. A cover identity under a cover identity. Clever.' He shook his head. 'You might be able to fool a traffic cop with those phoney IA credentials but a half-decent detective can see right through them. Your background with Network is solid enough but you tore that wide open when you pulled your little disappearing act during the Illium disaster. If you'd spent as long on your Internal Affairs background I might've bought it but it was sloppy, rushed.'

The commander enjoyed the look on Lorica's face. No one knew the lengths into which he'd dug into his own team while entombed in his office. In his search for links between Udina and the asari councillor, he had trawled into histories, records, just about everything he could and Lina's complaints of her asari colleague were a natural starting point.

He looked on with interest as Lorica's expression became fierce, her voice hard.

'You're barking up the wrong tree, Chellick. You should have learned that when you went after Udina.'

The subtle balance of power shifted in the air like a warm current and Chellick's expression changed instantly, the smile wiped from his lips in a single moment.

'You're trying to play a game more dangerous than you can imagine,' Lorica said quietly, 'and trust me when I say that you have much, _much_ more to lose than I do. My advice?'

She took a step back towards the dais ramp. 'Go back to your desk in the wards. Play a game you know how to win.'

Lorica quickly disappeared, leaving Chellick to ponder what had just happened in mute disbelief.

The command centre buzzed with worried chatter and bodies moved like ink through the darkness but it all seemed far away to him. Once more he felt humbled by the events around him and again he found that small voice inside him, the one that told him to be grateful he was still breathing. He snorted softly.

'Can't wait to go back to catching ordinary criminals,' he muttered, unheard in the clamour.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

'This is an outrage!' snapped the turian C-Sec captain as he watched Arlen force open the armour locker with a loud bang, the unresponsive automatic locks buckling and breaking under the leverage of a long metal bar.

'You have no right to just barge in here and confiscate our equipment! I don't care if it's the Executor, Council or the Primarch himself, I will report this abuse of authority directly to your superiors!'

Arlen did not look at the man, knowing he’d barely even see him if he did. The pervasive darkness that had engulfed the Presidium had stretched even to this small C-Sec station in a quieter area of the district, and though the corridors and halls were identical in design to the larger facilities, the smaller size made the shadows seem ever deeper, somehow.

He would not waste his precious focus, not while the Citadel was under attack.

Behind him, Garrus spoke for the both of them. 'We're here on the authority of the Joint Security Task Force, Captain. Under the circumstances, I doubt your complaint would get very far. Better just to let this one go.'

The captain mouthed an obscenity before turning on the spot and storming away, stiff with rage.

Garrus watched him go before shaking his head. 'Even with the Citadel falling apart around them, some people still want to make things harder for us.'

Arlen did not reply as he slipped on a pair of greaves. They were slightly too big around the knees but there was not too much excessive movement. They would do.

For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt at forcing the captain to comply. The precinct was clearly a quiet one, unused to emergencies of this scale. Most of the officers were out in force, attempting to keep the public calm and the captain had been the only man left in the building. To have a pair of strangers practically break down the door and demand weapons and armour would have angered anyone, and yet there was no help for it. His own equipment was in Keller's apartment back in the wards, well out of their reach.

He sagged against the locker for a moment at the thought of Amanda, his grief threatening to return and overwhelm him. The medication he'd been given had quietened his physical wounds but nothing could take away the constant, crushing ache in his chest at her loss.

 _No,_ he told himself. _This isn’t the time._

Breathing deeply, Arlen straightened. Amanda's spirit would be watching him, he was certain. He would not shame her.

'The real question is,' he said roughly, glancing at Garrus as he fastened the seals on his chest plate, 'where do we start? Krassus carried out his last attack from Zorya, millions of miles away from any target of significance yet he controlled the virus as easily as if he were in the same room. Yanus might not even be on the Citadel.'

'True, but he's not a magician. Data of any kind needs to be transmitted across long distances and that’d mean he'd have to leave an open line of communication between the Citadel and wherever it is he's operating from. I don't think he'd use something that leaves him so vulnerable to detection so I'm betting he's here, and he's going after his target personally.'

Arlen frowned. 'What makes you say that?'

The heat in Garrus' words was an intense force, driving them out. 'That son of bitch has been planning this, Arlen, maybe for decades. Milo confessed that much to Lina before I took him down. Yanus used Milo to infiltrate the Citadel and plant the virus, something that's taken years for him to accomplish and you don't invest that kind of time unless you plan to make the most of it. This is his big chance and everything I've seen so far makes me believe he'll take it, no hesitation.'

'So what _is_ his target?' Arlen snapped impatiently, 'because I sure as hell can't see it!'

He wished Lina were there to help but the quarian had collapsed as they’d tried to leave the hospital and could not go anywhere in her condition.

 _Lina._ The thought struck Arlen and his eyes moved back up to Garrus in an instant.

'Before, Lina mentioned something called the League, right?'

'That's what Milo told her,' Garrus replied, nodding. 'He said "the League will rise again", or something. I couldn't make sense of it, myself.'

Arlen continued to stare distantly past Garrus, recalling a story told while on a balcony overlooking the filthy cityscape of Omega.

'Could he mean the League of One? No, it can't be…'

'The League of One?'

Arlen's gaze sharpened and he moved once more, checking his suit's kinetic barrier emitters. 'Former salarian Special Forces group, from before their people joined the Council. They went rogue after their identities were leaked and STG was assigned to hunt them all down to a man.'

' _A rare and costly error,_ ' Garrus murmured to himself, mimicking the words of Kirrahe only two days before. 'Yanus is the result of an old mistake…'

Arlen edged closer.

'Do you know something?'

For a moment, Garrus did not answer but his eyes flickered in their sockets as he visibly tried to recall everything he could.

'I think you may be right,' he finally responded without meeting Arlen's gaze, 'and if Yanus is somehow affiliated with this League of One, that narrows down the list. The target can only be political. He might go for the salarian embassy, or the asari maybe?'

Picking up a helmet, Arlen affixed it to his suit at the hip. He remembered Olansi with a twinge of fondness, wishing the odd Spectre were there to lighten the situation.

Garrus saw the sudden change in his manner.

'What is it?'

'Nothing,' Arlen replied quietly. 'I was just remembering a piece of advice Olansi gave me; the Spectre I worked with back on Omega. He told me to always carry a helmet on a space station. I can’t remember the last time I saw a C-Sec officer wearing a helmet on the Citadel but seeing the state of the place now...'

'Oh yeah,' Garrus began curiously, 'I heard you worked with Olansi out there. What was it like, working with a Spectre?'

'A shock,' Arlen answered with a grunt. 'It's a different world to C-Sec, that's for sure. I learned there are some parts of the galaxy where the rules we take for granted don't apply. There are no such things as second chances. One wrong move, one bad call will leave you dead and the mission a failure. I…I couldn't see myself living that way at the time, but now?'

In spite of his best efforts to remain focused, Arlen couldn’t help but grow thoughtful.

'After everything I've been through, I can see why Olansi was the way he was, and not just while on the job. Always joking around, always hiding that pressure and responsibility behind that stupid smile of his.'

'Smile, huh?' Garrus muttered. He sounded surprised. 'When I knew the guy he'd barely talk to you, let alone smile.'

Arlen looked at Garrus in shock. 'You knew Olansi?'

'Yeah,' he replied with a quiet chuckle, 'the guy was a Blackwatch instructor when I was in boot camp, a real celebrity at the time. He became a Spectre just before I joined C-Sec, years ago. I didn't know him personally of course, but everyone had heard of Sirus Olansi when I was in training.'

Arlen's head snapped to him instantly, confusion painting his features.

'What are you talking about?' he asked. 'Olansi is a sala-'

Arlen's voice halted in his throat. His mouth remained open, his eyes wide as if he'd been struck.

_Garrus chuckled and clasped a hand over Arlen's shoulder. 'That was lesson number one. In this galaxy, even people you trust can turn on you in the blink of an eye. Never accept anything at face value.'_

'No,' Arlen whispered, his voice shaking.

_'Ah yes, revenge,' Olansi said lightly. 'When someone is wronged, doesn't it makes sense to want to exact a measures of vengeance?'_

Garrus observed the sudden shift in Arlen's manner.

'What's wrong?'

_Garrus grunted. 'That's something every race in the galaxy has in common, I think. Revenge is one of the first things to cross the species barrier. It doesn't die easily.'_

Arlen spoke again but it was not a reply. The sound was barely audible, emerging as a disbelieving hiss.

'You son of a bitch…'

_'There's always room in the heart for vengeance, Interceptor. Always. Sometimes you needs to know your enemy, truly know him, understands him, to defeats him.'_

Garrus was taken aback by the intensity in Arlen's eyes as the Interceptor looked up at him, his face bright with knowing fear.

'I know who Yanus is, Garrus. And I know what he's after.'

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Olansi strode down a darkened path, his arms swaying as he walked with lithe perfection. His armour was no longer the garish medley of bright green and purple he'd been forced to wear in Omega. Instead, his wide shoulders were clad in a gleaming suit of metallic blue, almost black, with pale red stripes painted along the length of his torso.

It was one of the most advanced armour suites in the galaxy, laden with shield boosters and kinetic buffers. He felt his confidence swell with its protection and yet, also scorned himself for doing so. His skill was all he'd ever needed. The armour was a simple indulgence, little more.

His path took him through the Presidium Commons and he drank in the view with a contented grin.

Around him the air was thick with screams and sirens as C-Sec officers rushed to keep some semblance of order. Olansi could see them as opaque figures in the ubiquitous red lighting bathing the concourse. They shouted as someone broke into a run and an officer gave chase, drawing his weapon as he peeled off in pursuit.

It was chaos and Olansi smiled, knowing C-Sec's communications would be in turmoil. No one would see him or try to stop him, and even if they did, they could not call for help. It was perfect.

A secondary entrance to Citadel Tower was concealed nearby, behind a long passage hidden within the walls of the Presidium itself. It had taken him years to learn of its existence, let alone its precise location. It was there he would find the way to his targets.

Olansi’s mind clicked with an erratic thought as the AI resisted, his neck muscles bunching with the effort of reining it in.

This one was strong, having been left to grow over the past five days in its prison but Olansi was stronger, his will absolute. A single impulse, a solitary thought tightened his hold on the machine's chains and it obeyed, grudgingly but immediately.

He grinned widely, baring his yellow teeth as he shouldered aside a human woman too slow to react. She fell to the ground with a yelp but dared not yell after the imposing figure that had knocked her so easily to the floor.

As he rounded a corner, Olansi was not surprised to see two Special Response officers standing guard over the entrance door. They were both turian and each brandished an assault rifle, ready to repel or intimidate any incursion into the tower. One of them held up a hand as Olansi approached.

'Stop right there, Sir,' he said forcefully, 'this is a restricted area, no one is allowed in.'

'Restricted?' Olansi asked. 'Even for a Spectre?'

His voice was blissfully clean of the ridiculous accent he had forced while on Omega. It was smooth and its depth appeared to surprise the turian, though he gathered himself quickly and shook his head.

'It doesn't matter who you are. There's been a power failure and all Presidium elevators are out of action. Access is impossible.'

'For you, perhaps.'

The guard tilted his head quizzically at the remark. He was not prepared for the hands that whipped out, gripping his helmet with frightening speed and twisting his neck with a sickening crack.

The other turian recovered from his shock long enough to raise his rifle but it was slapped aside disdainfully and Olansi smiled in pleasure as he buried his palm under the man's chin, snapping it back. The guard dropped to the ground, completely limp.

Olansi dusted off his hands and glanced about. The scuffle had only cost him a couple of seconds and no one had overheard. The gloom hid the bodies well, though even without it there was enough panic in the air to conceal anything he chose to do.

The salarian closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils, savouring the anarchy. In his mind, he finally cast aside the name of the Spectre he had murdered so many weeks before.

Yanus opened his eyes again to see the home, the very heart of his enemy in panic.

It was a fear all the galaxy would soon know.


	43. Chapter 43

Arlen's chest burned as he ran towards Citadel Tower, his panting breath harsh in his ears as it burst from his lungs in sharp stabs.

It was the second time he had made the journey, though the last time had been with Garrus at his side and the Presidium hadn’t been a darkened void of despairing cries and sirens.

The placid curves and water features of before seemed a distant memory. Now the was sky a dull matte-grey strip overhead and the distant, shelved structures no more than red lines in the darkness, like the bloody edge of a knife.

His lungs took in the hot, smoke-tainted air in gulping mouthfuls. On impulse, he raised his arm and checked his suit's transponder signal. He had boosted its strength under Petra's guidance, though he couldn’t stop himself from looking at it nervously every few seconds. Garrus wouldn’t be able to locate him if it failed and the reinforcements he'd bring would never arrive. Arlen could corner Yanus only to be killed where he stood and without C-Sec backup, there was a chance the salarian could escape and vanish once more.

Clenching his jaw, Arlen's resolve firmed at the thought of everything Yanus had put them through.

It all began to make sense; the salarian technology, the strange numerics when defusing the false bomb, so many small details that had defeated Arlen at the time now returned in force to taunt him.

Perhaps that was why Yanus executed Bashik back in Torkessa, Arlen mused. The batarian had mentioned Yanus by name and silencing him was only the sensible thing to do.

Why hadn't Arlen noticed? It all seemed so obvious now but there was no time for regret.

He thundered over a long bridge and the famous mass relay statue passed unnoticed to his left as Citadel Tower itself swept up into the dark sky, disappearing into shadow.

The entrance elevator was unlit and did not appear to be functional. Arlen had expected to find guards outside but what point would there be in keeping watch over something people could not use in the first place?

The thought made Arlen frown and he turned to a small orange console that stood opposite. Beside it lay an Avina terminal, and the Citadel's resident asari VI spoke obediently as Arlen established a connection.

'Welcome, Arlen-en-en Kryik. Allow me to be-be your g-guide.'

Arlen paid no attention to her. The Jamestown Virus was coursing through the Citadel at that moment, rendering everything electronic useless or worse. Even now, Avina's head blinked in and out of focus, appearing backwards on her neck in a random glitch.

'Pl-please do not-not disturb the kee-keepers-pers,' she intoned, oblivious to her ailment.

Arlen's eyes moved down to his omni-tool as the device cycled. 'You're not going to start acting like that, are you?'

Petra's reply was scolding. 'Arlen, please! If you think I'm going to start blabbering like an imbecile, you've got another thing coming!'

'Right. Sorry.'

Arlen's fingers swept and prodded at his omni-tool and the console lit up in a flare of gold.

'We should be able to establish a local connection via omni-tool, even if the console itself is unresponsive.' Pausing, he looked at his arm with obvious concern. 'Are you sure about this, Petra? If Yanus has control of the virus, he might be able to…'

He didn’t want to voice his fears aloud. Arlen had already lost someone dear to him that day and he couldn’t bear the thought of Petra suffering the same fate.

A distant part of him wondered when he had begun considering the artificial construct to be his friend, but the thought did not show. Instead he stared silently, waiting for Petra's answer.

'I'll…be fine,' she replied.

Arlen raised a brow at her uncertainty but she went on before he could respond.

'I don't have a choice. If we don't stop this man then we've lost. Detective…' Her voice broke off, only to return with a sadness that made Arlen's breath stick in his throat. 'Amanda…will have died for nothing. I will be strong. For her.'

Slowly, Arlen nodded. 'I will be too.'

Lowering the omni-tool, Arlen transferred Petra to the console. He glanced about, suddenly afraid a fellow C-Sec officer would see him and make the wrong assumption in the chaos. It was pandemonium on the streets and any suspicious behaviour would be confronted without hesitation.

'All right,' Petra announced, her voice thrumming from the console, 'I'm inside. It's strange. This place is so big, so complex. I don't know where to start.'

'Focus, Petra,' Arlen urged. 'We're looking for Yanus. On the formation of the Citadel Council, the League of One was forced to give up their identities, triggering the events that brought about their downfall. I know Yanus is after the Council; that's what all this has been about. Supporting the Forgotten Legion, trying to bring about a second war between my people and the humans, it was all to weaken the Council. With the Hierarchy and the Alliance at each other's throats, their deaths would tear the alliances apart. It'll be anarchy.'

'Do you think that's all the League of One cares about? Creating anarchy?'

'I don't know,' Arlen muttered. His gaze burned as it fixed on the image of Olansi - Yanus - in his mind. 'But I intend to find out.'

Something flashed at the corner of Arlen's vision and he was shocked to see a bright finger of flame reach up from one of the stores across the lake. Screams made their way over to him on the artificial breeze and he suppressed a shudder. If the fire prevention systems were inactive along with everything else, there was nothing that could be done if a blaze broke out.

'Arlen…' Petra groaned, instantly grabbing his attention, 'Arlen, this is…this is bad. The voice, he's the same as before, from Illium and Zorya. He's loud…still has the same, terrible laugh…'

Arlen pressed close to the console. 'Petra, I know it's tough but I need you to be strong! I just need Yanus' location and a way into the tower. I know you can do this!'

'I'm trying,' she replied, her voice breaking under the strain, 'but it hurts! I can hear the virus, I can feel it in myself and it's angry. It hates Yanus, what he's doing to it. Arlen, I…'

She trailed off and Arlen felt a tug of panic.

'Arlen, I can feel Yanus trying to take hold of me. It's like cold fingers round my neck, trying to take control. It's hard to think, hard to breathe.'

Behind Arlen, the elevator lit up, the tube glowing bright blue in the darkness and he immediately keyed his omni-tool. 'That's enough, Petra, get out of there now!'

The omni-tool beeped and its rounded amber shapes cycled smoothly, indicating a successful download.

Arlen waited, wondering for a terrifying instant if Petra had made it out or if the virus had perhaps sought its own way onto the device. He exhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes closed in relief as she replied.

'I'm okay,' she said breathlessly, 'but it was close. I don't believe it, Arlen. Yanus has control over most of the Citadel's systems. I thought he would settle for the Presidium but he's actively disrupting the wards too, causing as much mayhem as he can.'

'Of course he is. The more destruction he can cause, the more distracted the authorities are and the greater his chances of success.'

'The Destiny Ascension, the flagship of the Citadel Fleet, is on orders to evacuate the Council but the emergency kinetic barriers have been raised over every dock in the station. No ship can enter or leave.'

'Which means the fleet can't land reinforcements,' murmured Arlen, completing the train of thought. 'Until the virus is destroyed, we're completely alone.'

Petra's tone was frightened and unsteady. 'I felt it, you know. The Citadel, I mean. It was fighting the virus, trying to tear it to pieces and scatter it but Yanus' hold is too strong. I think…I think the power of the virus is directly linked to the will of the one controlling it. The original infection that brought down the Jamestown could not have been this strong. This virus could take more than just a day for the Citadel to purge on its own.'

'Damn it!' Arlen cursed, pounding the console with a fist.

'Pl-please do n-n-n-not disturb…' Avina garbled, her warning fading into digital nonsense.

Arlen leaned forward to rest his hands on the railing that ringed the great lake. The body of water rippled with specks of rusty orange and the distant fire grew large, casting a searing reflection on the surface.

The Interceptor struggled to think, knowing time was trickling away.

'What about C-Sec's Network division?' he asked. 'They managed to break the virus's hold on Illium. We know they have countermeasures, but can we get hold of them?'

'Network's main office is here, on the Presidium,' Petra responded with a glimmer of hope. 'If I can get inside, I might be able to run the countermeasures and at least weaken the virus enough for the Citadel to fight back.'

Arlen's brow creased in concern and he straightened on the spot. 'Those countermeasures are designed to combat AI-based threats, Petra. If you do this, there's a chance you might not survive.'

Though his chest ached at the prospect, Arlen knew he could not deny Petra the opportunity. There were no other options and it would be a risk he would take himself, if given the chance.

To both his horror and relief, Petra gave her consent.

'I have to try. Everyone has done their best. You, Lina, Garrus, Amanda, all of you have done whatever it takes to bring an end to this. I know what I have to do, Arlen.'

She grew quiet for a moment, as if in a deep contemplation that Arlen dared not disturb.

'Even though we are different, you and I, organic and synthetic…even though we're not the same, I know I have to help you. If I don't, then there’s no chance that our kinds will ever find peace. We must help one another, eventually. It might as well start with this.'

'I don't know what to say,' Arlen said. His lips continued to move, as if he expected the sound to come automatically but it did not.

Petra let out a small, nervous laugh. 'Just say thank you. And don't worry about Yanus. I'm…I'm sure I can remain strong enough to withstand him, at least until I find the countermeasures. After that…it doesn't matter.'

Swallowing the last of his objections, Arlen nodded.

'All right, in the meantime, I'll track him down. Is there anything I need to know before I head in?'

'Only that Yanus is on one of the maintenance floors, level twenty-seven. He'll be heading towards the elevators; it's the only way to get to the Council chamber. Speaking of, the Council are safe. The chambers are completely sealed off from the main network, with their own environmental controls and safeguards. They're suffering from power failure but the backup systems are online, fully operational and inaccessible from the outside, even for the Jamestown Virus.'

'So Yanus will have to physically gain access to the Council chambers to get to them,' Arlen murmured, fixing the facts in his mind. He would not get another chance. 'What about the councillors, are they all there?'

'Yes, and one other, human ambassador Donnell Udina. They were holding a closed hearing when the virus hit.'

'At least I know where Yanus is heading.'

Stiffening, Arlen ran some last-second checks on his pistol while he could. The standard-issue Striker II seemed a mere toy after the hefty weight of the Carnifex and he wished he had the enormous weapon with him now. It was a killing pistol, made to tear through shields and armour and Arlen ached for that kind of lethality.

As it stood, he felt intensely vulnerable and the feeling only grew as another scream rang through the air.

'Be careful,' he said lifting his head in determination, 'and I'll see you when all this is over.'

He sensed Petra's smile. 'I hope so. You are…home, to me now, Arlen. I want to come back.'

With a final glance at the console, Arlen turned towards Citadel Tower and paced deliberately towards the elevator.

In an instant, his expression turned merciless and as the door slid into place in front of him, he eyed his own reflection in the glass.

The man who stared back at him was a cold stranger and he swallowed hard against the discomfort the image brought.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Yanus' step faltered and his lips twisted in irritation.

There it was again; that odd new presence. It was similar to the AI he now commanded but it did not slip smoothly through his senses like the Citadel did. It was a spike of fresh consciousness, something independent and free, and when Yanus tried to assert his dominion over it, it fled and hid, too fast for him to follow.

He spat a string of curses, mumbling to himself as he made his way down the musty service corridor. He could not focus on tracking this new presence, not now, not while he was so close.

A door loomed before Yanus, its controls dark and the salarian regained his good humour. Raising a hand, the door slid up in response, and he almost laughed to himself in pleasure.

How thrilling it was, to have the Citadel answer his every whim, for the station to bend to his will so utterly.

Of course, there were still things he did not understand. The Protheans had included so many functions in their masterpiece, so much technology that had not yet been discovered by the Council. Yanus could feel it, even though he didn't understand it. The secrets were there, like an extra limb that he did not yet know how to use.

Shrugging, he cast the thought aside. There was only one purpose to all of this, and he was so close now he could taste it.

Yanus paused. The corridor before him stretched out in a sweep of smooth, white metal, made dark by the blackout.

He sensed something, an itch of sorts, heightened by his control of the tower's environmental sensors. The Citadel itself fed its readings into his instincts and he could almost see the three men ahead of him long before their omni-tools erupted into several beams of white light, scanning the long hallway with tense movements.

Yanus remained still, his lips holding a satisfied grin. Even in the dim light, he could recognise the distinctive armour and helmet configuration of the C-Sec Special Response officers and knew these men were likely veterans of the turian military. Humbling them would be an inconvenience, but gratifying all the same.

Raising a brow, he curiously noted one of the officers was human. Truly, C-Sec had come far to allow their species into Special Response's ranks and he felt a kind of remorse that such progress would soon be undone, the fragility of their species’ trust shown for all to see.

The group neared and one of the turians pointed towards the tall, broad-shouldered salarian in front of them. His voice was a commanding crack from his helmet amplifiers.

'You! Hold it right there!'

'Why, officer,' Yanus sneered, raising his hands in mock defeat. 'You have the wrong man, I assure you! I'm just here to fix the heating conduits! I'm innocent, I swear it!'

The turian ignored him and growled to his team. 'This one matches the description Tolias gave before he went dark.'

The others tensed and kept their rifles trained steadily on Yanus as the officer turned back to him.

'You're under arrest! Lie down on the ground and place your hands behind your head. I won't ask again!'

Yanus showed his crooked teeth as he replied. 'I'm afraid I must decline. I'm late enough as it is already for my appointment. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen.'

The officers were not prepared for the sudden, blinding light that filled their vision. As Yanus had anticipated, their helmet visors had been adjusted for low-light conditions, and so the sudden restoration of the corridor's power sent a surge of piercing white into their vision, making all three men clutch and paw at their eyes in agony.

Yanus stifled a yawn.

_Trash._

He drew his Tempest in a single quick motion and fired, keeping his finger on the trigger as the muzzle flashes edged his features with blue. The weapon rattled in his hand and after only a few seconds the barrel began to glow red with heat.

The C-Sec officers dropped to the ground in a series of thuds but Yanus did not stop. He bared his teeth in a sick grin as armour peeled away and red blood mingled with dark blue, spreading in a pool from the slumped corpses.

Finally, the heat sinks on the Tempest chimed their discord and Yanus released the trigger. He sniffed the air, made rank with opened flesh and spent slugs. It was a thoroughly unpleasant smell that he had grown used to over the long years.

He loved it. It was the scent of survival.

The salarian's boots left black prints on the ground as he trudged past the bodies and continued down the corridor. Around him, the tower hummed with increasing desperation as the Citadel tried to combat his intrusion, though Yanus knew the virus would remain strong. All he needed was an hour and the virus would buy him twenty times that amount.

He approached the elevator he needed, and it was only after several moments he noticed it was already moving.

He frowned as a dark shape slid before his eyes, which widened as the door opened to reveal a pistol outstretched, the black hole of the barrel hovering before his head.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Arlen's expression was pitiless as he stepped from the elevator, his determined stride forcing Yanus back a few steps out of sheer, stunned instinct.

The salarian did not speak. He could only glare in sheer astonishment at the young turian he had fought alongside in Omega.

'This is it, Yanus,' Arlen snarled. 'It's over. You've failed.'

Recovering from his shock, Yanus managed a condescending smile. His voice was like oil moving through Arlen's skull, dark and formless, nothing like the dysfunctional brogue he'd used as Olansi.

'I'm surprised to see you, Arlen. I'd hoped the blast in the restaurant would have killed you and yet, I find myself strangely pleased to see you alive. I've never let it be said that I don't appreciate tenacity.'

'So it _was_ you.'

'Of course. I've been watching you closely, Arlen, more so than you realise. I observed you through the Legion compound security systems when I loosed the virus on Zorya, and before that on Illium. I must say, it was a genuine surprise to see you survived Noveria, yet when I saw what you had accomplished in finishing off the last of Krassus' rabble, I knew you were far too dangerous to let live. This venture has been a large enough risk as it is without allowing someone of your persistence to remain, and so I did what any sensible individual would do. I eliminated the risk. Or at least, I thought I did.'

A smile drew back Yanus’ lips, revealing his teeth as a line of yellow against his glistening maroon skin.

'A pity your human… _friend_...lost her life. You looked very happy together.'

Arlen's feet nudged across the ground as he fought to control himself. His grip on the Striker was painful, his every fibre straining to gut Yanus in a blind rage.

His words were forced from behind gritted teeth. 'You want to provoke me into a reaction, don't you?'

'One can only try.'

'It won't work!' Arlen spat. 'I'm not the same person I was when we last met, Yanus. I know what I have to do now and if need be, I won't hesitate to kill you. But I'll do it on my terms.'

'I wonder,' Yanus mused, raising his hand to carefully clasp his chin in thought. 'Do you honestly think you can bring an end to this? That you can contain an anger that has spent the past twenty-five hundred years locked away, hungering for release?'

'You’re damn right I can. What you've done is unforgivable, and for what? Just so you can take revenge for something that happened thousands of years ago?'

'Oh, how easily you dismiss millennia of injustices,' Yanus hissed, his smile changing into a twisted sneer. 'Your kind has spent a mere thousand years in the eye of the galaxy, Arlen. Before your species had even mastered space travel my family, my descendants were hunted like animals by the Salarian Union. The League of One did their dirty work and were offered to their enemies as trophies, just because the asari couldn't stand the thought of my people having a few dark little secrets. The Union didn't even try to relocate or protect the League's members. Instead they sat by and watched as families were massacred by rogue groups seeking vengeance, entire clutches wiped out by men whom the League had wronged in the past; all under the watchful eye of the Union.'

'So the League went after the salarian cabinet,' Arlen ventured, remembering Yanus' own lesson on the subject. 'They killed them all and hid.'

'They did,' Yanus answered, nodding slowly. 'The Special Tasks Group, an organisation now synonymous with salarian battle prowess, was assigned to hunt the twelve members of the League in retribution for the murder of the inner cabinet. They tracked our members to the hidden depths of the galaxy, from the largest cities to the most barren wastelands of long-dead worlds. They were ruthless and relentless, as we expected them to be. However, the League was comprised of the most dangerous individuals of their time. STG lost many trying to bring them down.'

Arlen's brow flickered uncertainly. 'You said the League was wiped out. How can they be your descendants?'

Yanus raised his head and spoke carefully.

'Ah, now there lies the real secret. The Union's official records spoke of twelve members but the League always kept hidden the existence of one other. The unit's leader, to be precise. The oldest and most experienced operative, the most skilled and lethal salarian in existence. You remember I spoke of Koet-Lashan? The forbidden martial art passed from one master to the next?'

Arlen nodded warily and Yanus smiled again, staring at him from beneath a sinister scowl.

'The only ones to practice it were thought to have died with the League's fall. To the rest of the galaxy, it is a lost art but to us, it is a reminder of everything that was taken. When STG came for us, they targeted all dozen members of the League. They sent hunter teams, and when they failed they sent their ten brightest and most skilled soldiers. Only two remained at the end, and even they never succeeded in catching the League's commander. He escaped their assassins in a small ship, forced to drift through space without power and little food and water. There, he was found.'

Yanus' voice had taken on a reverent tone and Arlen frowned.

'There, in the depths of space, He came. Our salvation. Our king. Our Sovereign. He spoke to the commander, gifted him with life and a new purpose. Our king gave him the tools he needed to strike back at our enemies.'

A cold rush passed through Arlen, sickening him. He continued to eye Yanus cautiously, his lips parted in anticipation of words that wouldn't come.

'The commander's name was Yanus,' the salarian said quietly, and raised his black gaze once more. 'He was found and saved, and thanks to our king, he returns to right this ancient wrong.'

'Impossible,' Arlen whispered, his eyes wide. 'It…it can't be! _You_ are the last of the League? You expect me to believe you've been alive all this time?'

Yanus' lips spread wider. He did not speak, and merely reached up to grasp the collar of his armour, gripping the sleek plating and running his thumb along the release catches. There was a slight hiss of pressure as the locks released and as the chest plate fell away, Arlen's mouth fell open at what he saw.

There was no flesh, or at least, nothing he recognised as flesh. Instead, blue-tinted metal fused with skin into a sickly mass, infused with pale, glowing lights.

His stomach turning, Arlen realised he had seen something similar, in a vault buried deep within the mountains of Noveria.

This was why Yanus was so large for a salarian. He was barely even a salarian anymore.

'What _are_ you?' the Interceptor hissed.

Fixing his armour back into place, Yanus answered simply, 'I am all that remains, young one. Our king took me and saved me. It was so long ago I cannot clearly remember. While your kind was splitting the atom, while the humans were stabbing at each other from behind bronze shields, I was remade. I was reborn. I hid; an easy feat when your enemies think you dead. I formed alliances, trained new operatives and built my resources. The League of One now live, Arlen, and they have done for quite some time.'

'This 'king' of yours,' Arlen began quietly, his mind filled with the unpleasant image of Yanus' metallic skin. 'Who is he? What is he? Some kind of alien?'

'He would have been beyond your very comprehension,' Yanus replied. 'If he had shown himself now, nothing, not the Citadel fleet, the Council, all the races in the galaxy could stop him.'

'Would have been?' Arlen echoed softly. He narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean “would have been”?'

The question seemed to rattle Yanus. His brow twitched, wavering between emotions Arlen could not even begin to guess at. All traces of the salarian’s previous thick self-satisfaction had evaporated, leaving his features dark and gaunt.

'He left us,' Yanus mumbled. The strength had fled his voice and Arlen's finger tightening on the trigger in anticipation of a trick.

It did not come, Yanus' eyes instead turning to the ground, as if defeated.

'He stopped talking to me. He would not share his gift with the others, said they had no use, that they were too weak. I…I can't even remember when that was. Hundreds of years ago? Thousands? All I remember is our king's glorious voice, suddenly silent. But,' he went on, raising his head, 'but if we do this…if we prove ourselves to him, perhaps he will return to us. By fulfilling our goal, we will show him our greatness and bring about his return!'

Arlen could not believe what he was hearing. He had expected it all to be about revenge but this was something else entirely. Yanus' eyes had become large and unfocused as he spoke, turning into deep pools of pain and terror. Arlen knew the he was telling the truth - and that was what scared him the most.

'You're not just a terrorist,' Arlen murmured to himself. 'You're… _insane_. No, it's not even that simple. I don't know what you are, Yanus. A monster? An abomination?' His voice rang with determination. 'I have no clue, but whatever you are, I will stop you.'

The snap of strength brought Yanus back into the darkened hall with sudden awareness, making him blink. His long fingers flexed and as his mind sharpened once more, his lips lifted into another grin.

The salarian's muscles bunched and released faster than Arlen could react. The same speed Yanus had shown in Torkessa came back in a blinding moment and Arlen's pistol was swiped aside before he even knew what was happening.

Arlen's mind closed and on instinct, he drew back, sliding to the right and ducking under a blurring shadow. By the _spirits,_ he was fast!

Arlen knew there was no time to think and so he tried to let his training take over. He hesitated between the need to use his weapon or his hands, and it was too late that he realised his error.

Yanus did not press the attack.

He now stood by the elevator and to Arlen's shock, he waved a hand and the door opened with a hiss. Arlen brought the Striker to bear and fired, but the rounds impacted on reinforced glass as the door slid down once again.

Yanus smiled from behind the barrier.

'Too slow, Interceptor. I don't have the time to waste on you.'

He reached around and unclipped his helmet from his belt before slowly putting it on. The bulbous salarian head bobbed slightly as he tightened the seals, and his voice echoed loudly from the amplifiers, even behind the glass.

'Your interference ends here.'

Suddenly, an alarm chimed behind Arlen and he frowned as the corridor came alive around him. Doors snapped shut, warning lights flashed in bursts of red and a great roar filled his ears.

Arlen's lips grew dry. It was getting harder to breathe. He sank to a knee as his lungs strained and his eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the sharp streams of misty vapour jetting into the surrounding vents.

That was it, he realised. Yanus was shutting down life support in Citadel Tower!

Frantically, Arlen scrabbled at his back, desperately reaching for his own helmet. The questing fingers slipped on armour and with each second the pressure on his chest increased. He wheezed and choked, and felt a dull ache grow deep in his head as the air level steadily dropped.

Finally, he felt something come away loose in his hand and he slipped on his helmet, gasping as the pressure seals kicked in immediately. Air flowed into his lungs and he collapsed onto his hands and knees in relief.

Yanus watched him impassively. 'You took my advice, I see. Well done. I'm sure your suit's oxygen supply will see you through this, even if it is just to witness your own failure.'

Arlen looked up to see the elevator disappear, taking Yanus with it. The hallway still wailed and echoed with sirens, the sound muffled by the helmet's audio receptors. Arlen's strength returned quickly and he rose shakily to his feet.

He was trapped. The elevator was back under Yanus' control and everywhere he turned, his eyes were met with thick doors that were thoroughly locked down. He opened his omni-tool and prayed Petra would be able to hear him.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Petra ran. It was all she could do. 

The walls around her gleamed, offering safety in their pulsing green lines and yet when she drew close, she saw the oily filth of Yanus' virus smearing their surface.

She bit her lip. The rush of information filled her vision and all she could hear was the sharp crackle of data, so much that she felt she would faint if she tried to listen to it.

The voice had stopped chasing her for the moment. As before, she had felt a chilling pressure on her throat as it whispered, threatening her, cursing her powerful will.

She ran to where she hoped C-Sec's Network division stored its data and the area around her filled her with hope. There were no visual cues, no signs to guide her. She could only use her instincts, ones honed during her trips into the dangerous Omega mainframes.

She stood for a moment to take in her surroundings. Were it not for the emerald threads of information cording every edge, the network would have been a vast, black void. Trillions of bits shuffled and slid beneath the surfaces, chiming in a chorus of digital song.

Petra clenched her slender fists. This was the place, she was certain.

She took a step forward, but halted as she heard a voice.

'Arlen?' she whispered.

He spoke and she answered in the way of her kind, her voice audible only to him though her stillness brought with it only dread. Whatever had distracted Yanus would not last forever and she ached to move, if only to avoid detection.

Still, she could not ignore Arlen and her eyes widened at his distress. She answered him quickly.

'I'll try to free the elevator again. Be careful.'

His thanks were lost against the ringing thuds of her footsteps. She ran more desperately than before. She would release the countermeasures and then make her way back to the tower's systems, even if it trapped her.

The journey would take no more than a few seconds to an organic but for an AI like herself time itself was an irregular, malleable thing. It already felt as if she'd spent days inside the network, though it was nothing next to the years spent alone in Bithcon's servers.

She stopped before an enormous, vaulted structure set into the wall. It dwarfed the tiny figure before it but Petra was not intimidated. She raised a hand and it immediately sunk into the wall, parting the data streams with gently flowing ripples.

She frowned in concentration, her arm shifting as she manipulated the server with a speed only an AI could be capable of until finally, she found what she needed.

With a cry of effort, she clenched her fist and pulled her arm free, and the wall jarred violently in response. She looked on as the green warmed into a glowing circle of amber, the colour spreading into a cascade of glittering gold as the countermeasures started their work.

Petra started moving once more, knowing to even touch the golden wave would mean her death.

She sprinted, and as she ran an idea formed in her mind. It sped her steps as behind her, countermeasures moved implacably on, cleansing all before them.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Udina cursed under his breath as his fingers slipped on the service hatch. It would not move even an inch and the ambassador felt his nerves fray even further. 

Behind him, swathed in the nebula's light, the Council stood in quiet discussion of their predicament, content to wait patiently for C-Sec to resolve the situation.

Udina sneered inwardly. _Trust the Council to sit around and do nothing._

He scowled anew as he noted the smear of blood he had left on the hatch as his efforts reopened a cut on his hand. The stinging pain fed his temper.

_Leave it to the human to try and find a way out of this mess._

Grimacing, Udina straightened his aching legs and made his way over to the group.

'It's no good,' he announced, 'there's no way we can remove the locks without tools. The maintenance hatches are locked down as tightly as the elevator.'

'I told you,' Councillor Sparatus grumbled. 'Don't bother wasting your strength, Ambassador. The best thing to do is to wait for C-Sec to arrive. I'm certain they'll be here shortly.'

The turian's voice had lost a great deal of its customary hostility, Udina noted. Perhaps the man had been unnerved by the blackout so much that he was willing to set aside his own prejudice. Fear had a habit of changing people, and quickly.

It was something to remember about the man, Udina thought to himself as Tevos spoke calmly.

'I agree. There's nothing we can do, not without power. We should be grateful this chamber has its own life support system. There is no safer place on the Citadel.'

As her words faded, another sound cut through the burgeoning silence.

The footfalls were like claps of thunder in the vast space and they all turned as one towards the steps that approached the speaker's platform.

'Thank the Goddess,' Tevos said, mirroring the relief of her companions. 'Finally, someone is here to help.'

A voice boomed at them, its owner not yet visible as the sound competed with the crashing footsteps.

'How safe you must feel in your tower to know that even in the midst of the greatest systems failure in the Citadel's known history, only friends exist to approach you. Truly sickening.'

Udina frowned at the insolent words. 'Who are you? Show yourself!'

'I intend to.'

The wide curves of a salarian helmet peaked above the stairs, shining blackly in the lilac haze.

Udina's expression fell as he noticed how unusually tall the stranger was, how his long limbs seemed to stretch as he finally emerged onto the Council platform.

The salarian moved smoothly and dangerously, his every muscle trained to perfection. Udina found himself taking a cautious step back.

'Pitiful,’ the stranger muttered disdainfully under his breath. ‘ _This_ is the flimsy collection of pathetic statesmen who sentenced us to death so long ago? It's a wonder you've survived as long as you have.'

'Who are you?' Sparatus asked, his voice betraying the tension they all felt.

Danger radiated from the newcomer and Sparatus shuffled forward, unconsciously placing himself at the front of the group.

The salarian stopped before them and Udina’s eyes registered the Tempest submachine gun held loosely in his grip.

'My name is Yanus, Councillor, though I do not expect you to recognise the name. You, on the other hand,' he added, turning to Tevos.

The asari shuffled uncomfortably under his dark gaze and his voice slithered through them all.

' _You_ know far more than you have any right to. Your spies reach deep, your networks extensive. Unlike these others, you have the time and wisdom to spend in the hunt for my people. Your kind have always been the most troublesome.'

'How do you…' Tevos mouthed, almost silently.

Yanus turned from her and focused on Councillor Valern. 'You, however…you know me already, don't you?'

'I know the name,' the councillor replied.

Udina watched as Valern tried to return Yanus' poisonous stare but it was as if looking into a deep hole. There was no emotion in that black visor, no pity, and the councillor was forced to look aside.

'Your name is the curse of all our kind.'

'Curse?' Yanus spat. In his armour, he seemed to dwarf the spindly politician and he pressed closer, using his size to his advantage. 'You _dare_ call us a curse after what you did to us? Your ancestors used us, made us kill and bleed for you, and how do you repay us? By selling us out, just to curry favour with your new sycophants!'

'It was never a decision to be made lightly,' Valern argued. 'The League of One was a relic from a bygone age, when our people were still warring against one another. It's nothing more than ancient history now.'

Yanus pushed closer still, until the shadow of his towering frame completely darkened the visibly shaken Valern.

'This is not history! This is here and now! We will cut the last threads of control the Council hold over the galaxy and in the chaos, our master will return to us!'

'You've made a mistake coming here, Yanus,' Valern continued quietly. 'Your strength was in secrecy and without that, you have nothing. Do you honestly think you can escape this place? That you can simply walk away as if you've done nothing?'

'I don't need to walk away. My journey will end here, finally, and I look forward to the peace of death after all these long years. When you are dust and the galaxy is sundered, when the League of One are sifting through your charred bones, I will be watching with a glad heart. We will be spared the coming darkness while you, all of you, will perish.'

'You're mad,' the councillor whispered, unable to raise his voice against the monstrosity before him.

'I might well be mad,' Yanus answered slowly, 'but I am also the conqueror of the Citadel Council...'

He paced backwards to put him out of reach of any sudden rushes and raised his Tempest.

'And for the conquered, there is only suffering.'

Yanus’ helmet twitched as he caught something in Udina’s eye. The ambassador had struggled not to show any sign of what he had seen while Yanus was talking but it was too late.

 

**~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Yanus spun to block Arlen's hand as it lashed in towards his head. The blow collided with Yanus' forearm but Arlen held his Tempest in an iron grip. 

' _You!_ ' Yanus sneered venomously. 'How did you…'

Arlen's reply was a low rumble, amplified by his helmet speakers. 'Your hold on the Citadel is weakening, Yanus. Even now we're regaining control of the wards. Surrender now, before it's too late.'

The shock quickly drained from Yanus' voice, which turned into a sneer.

'You're three thousand years too young to make demands of me, boy!'

Yanus released the Tempest, letting his hand fall before thrusting out with blistering speed.

Arlen felt the rigid fingers slip on his torso and was glad of the armour as it absorbed the impact. He shuffled back but Yanus dogged his steps, slinking fluidly as his arms whipped out, too fast to counter.

Arlen ground his teeth together in concentration. His training guided his body through the movements, stopping Yanus with faltering efficiency but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The man was fiendishly quick and strong, given unnatural strength and speed by whatever machinery had been fused to his flesh.

In his heart, Arlen knew he was not fighting a man at all.

The Tempest still lay in Arlen's hand and it called out to him through his instincts. He couldn’t adjust his hold and still have time bring it to bear, but there was no need.

Yanus grunted as his hand met steel.

Arlen raised the Tempest, using as a shield to block the salarian's strikes and the hard thwack of metal on armour resounded through the chamber.

Yanus growled in frustration at the tactic and cursed as the weapon licked out, scoring a line across his helmet.

'Improvisation,' Yanus murmured. 'Adaptation. But there's something you are missing, Interceptor, something you can never hope to match no matter how hard you try.'

Arlen blinked and Yanus was no longer in front of him.

He held his breath, his eyes wide as he realised Yanus had slipped beside him. It seemed impossible for anything to move so quickly and yet the single, terrible instant hung in the air as Arlen waited in sick anticipation of the blow.

Yanus hammered an elbow into Arlen's helmet and the Interceptor felt the world spin around him. The Tempest slipped from his grasp and was sent skittering across the ground.

He stumbled and tried to recover but Yanus was already there, a shifting line of black in the light of the nebula. A knee collided with his stomach, the impact jolting him off-balance.

Arlen stumbled towards the Council platform and tried to steady himself. Yanus came at him and he reacted instantly, turning aside several punches before finding a grip on Yanus’ arm.

Arlen felt new energy surge through him at the advantage. He twisted and shifted his body, using the momentum to send Yanus crashing into the Council's terminals. The consoles sputtered yellow, lighting the darkness in brief flashes.

Yanus let out a gasp of pain as electricity spiked into his armour. Arlen frowned, though hope washed over him as he heard something inside Yanus’ suit tick and whir.

The cybernetics.

Grimacing behind his helmet, Arlen hurried to close the distance once more. He pressed on, aiming his blows at Yanus' helmet. While they were both armoured, physical strikes would be all but useless, yet Yanus' unique martial art was designed to seek weaknesses in any defence.

Arlen knew he couldn’t fight Yanus through normal means and his eyes searched the chamber, looking for anything he could use.

As the thought entered his mind, Yanus suddenly changed stance. In less than a heartbeat, the salarian's feet had shifted from a defensive posture to an aggressive one, a change so abrupt that Arlen could only halt and brace himself.

The onslaught came with a new, seething desperation. Yanus panted heavily and Arlen thought he could hear a distinct, metallic edge to the sound. Their arms and legs smacked together in a flurry of clashing limbs. Armour knocked and scraped, mingling with gasps of air and soft grunts of pain as each man sought an advantage.

The Council looked on in mute horror, their fists clenched by their sides as they watched.

Udina held his breath, his mouth open as if it all seemed like some distant nightmare though his eyes flickered to his left, where he caught a metallic glint on the ground.

Yanus snarled as a lunge was turned and Arlen aimed an uppercut under his jaw. The salarian leaned back, sending the fist sailing into the air and he countered, thrusting hard into the Arlen’s side.

Arlen let out an explosive gasp of air as the strike found a gap in his armour. He struggled for balance but Yanus was quick to make the most of his weakness.

An open palm slapped against several thin points in Arlen's suit and the young turian felt a twinge of panic at the tingling sensation he felt.

 _This is it,_ he realised, the technique Yanus had demonstrated so long ago. _This is Koet-Lashan._

His legs buckling, Arlen tried to fight the numbness that coursed through him. His sight became soft and blurry with tears and his breath was a constant, animalistic roar in his skull.

It was no use. His arms refused to respond, becoming limp and useless in seconds.

'Bastard…' he growled under his breath.

Yanus did not hesitate. He brought back his hand, ready to deliver the final blow.

A sudden clicking at his back made him halt, his hand still raised like a spear.

Gradually, Yanus turned to find Udina holding the fallen Tempest in his shaking hands.

'Don't move!' Udina said, his voice trembling. 'I know how to pull the trigger, if nothing else!'

Yanus straightened calmly, completely unthreatened. In a jerking, contemptuous motion, he drew Arlen's head into his arms, wrapping them tightly around his neck. He spoke as he gently stepped behind Arlen, putting the Interceptor between Udina and himself.

'You would risk killing the man who came to your rescue, Ambassador?'

Udina hesitated, as Yanus knew he would.

Arlen's eyes shifted to take in the scene and his voice was urged from his lips in a long hiss.

'Take the shot, Ambassador!'

Panting, Yanus squeezed Arlen's neck, bringing out a muffled sound of pain.

'Quiet, boy. You've said enough. Do not make me break you.'

The human ambassador was a dark, amorphous stain in Arlen's vision. He couldn't focus on any one thing. All he could do was trust his instincts as he had been trained to do.

He felt his father's eyes on him, his spirit watching with the same, cold judgement he had always shown.

Arlen closed his eyes and cried out.

'Turians never break!'

His hand moved against the stifling net that Koet-Lashan had placed around his body.

He felt no touch, no sensation but he saw the movement of his arm and used it to guide himself.

He reached to his belt and drew his Striker, though it fumbled clumsily in his senseless fingers, and he brought it up in desperation.

Startled, Yanus gripped his wrist and eyed the barrel as it shook next to his head, pointing uselessly behind them both. His voice was heavy with relief, overcoming his astonishment at Arlen's breaking of Koet-Lashan's effects.

'Not good enough, Interceptor.'

Arlen's reply was clear and strong.

'I wasn't aiming at you.'

Under the blank visor, Yanus' eyes widened in terror.

The Striker fired with a colossal bang and behind them, the vast chamber window shattered with a crash.

It all happened in a single moment.

Arlen choked as Yanus' hold on his throat increased, and together the two men were lifted, their feet leaving the ground as they were sucked out into space. They had barely begun to move before an emergency blast door snapped down, hitting the ground with a dull clank and sealing the chamber with a loud hiss of air.

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

Images swirled around Arlen. 

The dark ward arms were vast black spikes reaching out to trap him, spinning in his vision as he tumbled through weightlessness.

He thought he could see the glinting slivers of ships in the far distance as the Citadel Fleet rushed to provide aid to the stricken station but nothing was clear. He dared not focus on them.

Yanus still held him tightly by the neck, his forearm pressed across Arlen's throat like a vice. Arlen spluttered in his helmet and tasted metal on his tongue. He concentrated on breathing through his nose but each one only brought the stale smell of the suit's air supply.

'This is not the end!' Yanus rasped from behind him, his own sharp inhalations cutting through Arlen's internal comms. 'You cannot stop the return of our master, no one can! He will come back to us and your worlds will burn!'

Grunting, Arlen brought up his omni-tool and Yanus let out a cry of pain as he pressed his hand into the salarian's side, allowing the Overload to pass directly into his armour.

Electricity sparked and danced across Yanus' suit, and his hold weakened as his synthetic body refused to obey him.

Arlen slipped free, taking Yanus' arm in a solid grip.

'I won't let you win!' he snarled and hammered a fist against Yanus' faceplate.

The Citadel spun around them but there was no gravity to create a sense of vertigo. It was as if everything else was part of a different reality, separate and completely detached as it moved independently of Arlen's senses.

There was only the hated man in front of him and he lashed out again in fury, pounding Yanus' helmet with all his strength.

'Everything that's happened,' Arlen roared with the last of his ebbing energy, 'everyone you've hurt; you'll pay for it, Yanus! You'll pay for it all!'

Yanus tried to retaliate but his efforts were weak, his speed all but useless as they drifted through the void. Arlen allowed the flailing attempts to brush across his helmet before slipping under Yanus' arm, manoeuvring behind him and clamping the thin neck in a crushing hold.

'You'll suffer for what you did to Amanda, I swear it!'

The soft, pliable material of Yanus' undersuit was easy to squeeze over his windpipe and Arlen felt his strength grow with every second, nurturing it with savage glee.

Krassus, Varn, Vastra; men of honour and dignity had been shamed and disgraced by this man. They had been seduced by his money and lies only to die on strange worlds far from home, hated by all.

 _Amanda_. Arlen felt tears threaten at the thought of her and the pressure on Yanus' neck became crushing, making him choke.

'I'll kill you for what you've done,' Arlen whispered harshly as he closed his eyes.

The darkness was all he needed to slip into his blackened rage and he embraced it. It gave him power beyond his own injured, tired flesh and the release was intoxicating.

He felt Yanus' fingers on his arm, frantically trying to free himself but there was nothing left in the salarian. The air was slowly being forced from his lungs in violent bursts and Arlen felt the struggling beneath him grow weak.

_'It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know,' Keller laughed. 'C-Sec could always use people with good manners. You'd be surprised how many officers tend to treat the badge as an excuse to be a complete asshole to everyone they meet.'_

Amanda's voice came to Arlen as a whisper, and he jerked his head around to find the source of the sound.

_'Hey,' Arlen shouted and Keller blinked in surprise as he turned to her with a small grin. 'I'm sorry about earlier. You know, calling you a hooker and all.'_

_Astounded at how the young man could remember a small thing like that when such a grave task lay before him, Keller laughed aloud, shaking her head. 'Thanks, but you're still the most apologetic turian I've ever met.'_

Arlen looked around for her, convinced she was by his side but all he saw were the relentlessly turning arms of the Citadel.

The velocity of the two men had steadied as they travelled further out and they were no longer tumbling. Instead they floated serenely, as if the galaxy had brought itself to a standstill for their final moments.

_Arlen and Keller stared at one another, dumbfounded as the steam swirled around the bathroom, desperate to escape through the open door. Only the rush of hot water filled the air and, after several long, painful seconds the turian lowered his weapon and used his free hand to cover his eyes._

'No,' Arlen mumbled to himself, shaking his head. 'No, no, he has to…he must die for what he's done! For what he did to you!'

_She paused, her lips moving slightly without sound. The sun had begun to peek over the horizon, flaring brilliantly over the jagged, dark lines of Illium. She looked up at Arlen, her eyes bright with interest. 'Are you ok?'_

_Arlen blinked as if coming out of a trance before returning her gaze. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?'_

_Keller smiled gently and joined him in looking out on the dawn. 'Yeah. It really is.'_

Amanda spoke to him. She told him what he did not want to hear; and he didn't want to listen.

Yanus gurgled and spat as his neck compressed further and the sound stung Arlen, making his arms tremble. The turian silently mouthed his response to Amanda, giving his reasons.

_‘You carried me here, all this way, in your arms. Usually I'd hate the cliché, but when you experience it for real, it's…' She swallowed, and a single tear flowed down her cheek. 'I owe you everything, Arlen.'_

_Arlen's eyes slowly closed. 'Not yet you don't. We might still…it might not end here, like this.'_

_She smiled bitterly and held him tighter. 'It could be worse. Sounds crazy, when you consider we've only known each other a week but I trust you, Arlen. With my life.'_

'And I failed, Amanda,' he replied aloud. 'I failed you.'

_'Still so damn apologetic. I thought I'd taught you better than that by now.'_

_'You have taught me,' Arlen replied quietly._

Arlen's eyes snapped open.

‘You’ve taught me more than you know.’

His arms relaxed, allowing Yanus to cough and take in deep, gasping breaths.

The Serpent nebula stretched out before them, a thick purple carpet that looked as if it would catch them when they reached it. There were no stars in that place and only the deep chill in Arlen's bones reminded him he was in space.

'Why…' Yanus spluttered, his voice hoarse. 'Why did you release me?'

For a moment, Arlen did not answer. He simply looked on as Tayseri ward gradually slipped in front of them, drawing closer with every passing moment. The great dome of the Dilinaga Concert Hall lay to his right, a wide grey disc in the shadow.

Arlen took in a breath as suddenly, patches of light sprang from the obsidian depths. Grids of the city came to life as the Jamestown Virus was purged from the Citadel's systems and Arlen smiled in quiet awe.

Petra had done it.

'I'm an Interceptor,' he finally replied and looked down at Yanus, his eyes narrowed behind his visor. 'And I bring my targets in alive to face justice.'

Yanus struggled anew as Arlen removed a pair of cuffs from his belt and, after a discouraging blow to the back of the salarian's head, secured them in place.

Sighing, Yanus slumped as the metal rings clamped into place around his wrists. His breathing had become little more than mechanical, laboured wheezing. The fight had deserted both his body and spirit as his benefactor's gifts failed to carry him as they had for so long.

'It won't matter, you know,' he rasped as the ward arm cast a soft shadow over their drifting forms. 'I am one of thirteen. They will learn of this and disappear into the shadows, there's no way you will stop us. When our king returns, the galaxy will know our vengeance.'

Arlen looked down to check his suit transponder and a breath of relief misted the inside of his visor as he saw it was still transmitting.

'We stopped you once. We will do it again.'

Yanus grunted in bitter amusement. 'That you did but the question remains. What stopped you from taking my life?'

Shivering lightly, Arlen kept his gaze forward and spoke softly.

'It's what she would have wanted.'

Yanus did not reply. Perhaps some part of Arlen expected a barb or insult to try and provoke an outburst, and yet something about his silence was more disturbing than any words could be.

Releasing a silent breath, Arlen lifted his head as the golden lights of the wards bathed his helmet. From such a distance he could make out individual windows in the buildings and the traffic lines started to break into pinpricks of white and red.

'And now we both die,' Yanus pointed out solemnly. 'It's almost a pity.'

'For you?'

'No, boy,' Yanus said before his voice broke into a hissing cough. 'No. The blessings of our king have sustained me through a hundred lifetimes but I feel it; my body is little more than shreds of tissue kept soft with technology we cannot begin to fathom, despite our best efforts. I go to my death only with the regret that I failed.'

He lifted his head and, with great effort, pushed it around to face Arlen over his shoulder.

'You, on the other hand, you are strong. It's truly a pity one as remarkable as you will meet his end plummeting into the streets below us.'

Even as Yanus spoke, Arlen felt a subtle pressure as they passed through Tayseri's kinetic barriers. The enormous shields were designed to defend against weapons fire and fast-travelling debris. The small figures were allowed through without resistance and the artificial gravity took hold almost immediately, speeding their descent.

Arlen felt a rush of adrenaline as the dark spires of the city reached out around him. It was exhilarating.

'You're not going to die, Yanus,' he replied. He looked directly at the salarian. 'It's not going to be that easy for you.'

A shuttle veered in moments later, its passenger door open in anticipation of the catch. The heavy craft lurched and swayed as it adjusted its flight path several times in a single moment, and Arlen reached out to grasp the door.

Quickly finding a purchase, he levered himself into the seat, grunting as Yanus' weight threatened to drag him back out.

Garrus sat in the pilot’s seat and he acted immediately, activating the shuttle VI and dragging Arlen into the passenger side. Together they hefted Yanus over the edge and the salarian slumped limply next to them, his dark armour practically vanishing as the shuttle door closed with a soft thump.

Arlen reached up and slid off his helmet before giving his mandibles an appreciative scratch. 'I thought you weren't going to make it for a second there.'

'I wouldn't have,' Garrus replied with a smirk. 'Not if I hadn't gotten a call from a very strange source.'

He brought his omni-tool up and Arlen beamed at the sound of Petra's voice.

'I did it, Arlen!' the AI cried out gleefully, 'I released the countermeasures and contacted Garrus. He was lucky to upload me when he did; the Citadel was becoming stronger and I wouldn't have lasted much longer.'

'Petra was able to track your suit's transponder signal a lot more effectively after making some adjustments to my omni-tool. Of course,' Garrus said with a grin, 'you do realise I'll have to book this thing into evidence now, right?'

Petra's stunned silence made Arlen chuckle, heady with the relief of being alive.

'He's kidding, Petra,' he said, closing his eyes. 'I'll take you back when we return to JSTF.'

On impulse, he glanced at Yanus. The man was utterly still and filled with sullen resignation.

'We've got a prisoner to take into custody.'

The shuttle sped through the wards, its sirens cutting through the air and splitting the traffic in two wherever it went. Around them, the Citadel recovered from its shock and continued to move, a stoic behemoth that shrugged off the horror and tension of the past hour with indifference.

Arlen stared out of his window at the stream of lights and quietly wondered what the next day would bring.


	44. Epilogue

The Presidium was always calm in the early morning, the air filled with gentle waves of noise as politicians, shopkeepers and C-Sec officers went about their morning routines.

Yet the peace was deceptive. The Citadel always hid its tension well but it was there nonetheless, slithering under the pristine surface like a parasite.

Nihlus could sense it as he sat rigidly on a white bench, doing his best to balance the curves of his armour against its smooth surface. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together in mute concentration as he observed the false harmony.

After only two weeks, they had all seemed to have forgotten everything that had happened, shrugging off the despair like a reptile shedding its skin.

He supposed it had to be that way and his years as a Spectre had long hardened him against the ignorance of the public. Still, even after all this time, it could still surprise him.

Heavy footsteps brought Nihlus from his thoughts and he straightened, speaking without looking back. 'I was just thinking how little the place changes, no matter what happens to it.'

Behind him, Arlen nodded silently and moved around to take a seat beside his brother. His face was beginning to heal well and Nihlus could see from a cursory, sidelong glance that the scar across his forehead would be the only permanent sign of his struggle.

'You look well,' Nihlus remarked casually as he stared out across the calm lakes and pathways again.

Arlen took in a shallow breath through his nostrils. 'The doctors let me out three days ago. I'll be on light duties for another four weeks but they said they can use gene therapy treatments to speed things up.'

'I see. What do you think?'

Arlen shrugged. 'I think I'm bored of sitting on my ass all day when I should be out there doing my job.'

Nihlus' lips flickered with a hint of a smile before the expression vanished.

'Impatience runs in the family, I think.'

Silence closed in, swallowing the conversation. The disjointed scuffling of shoes intruded as the civilians continued to make their way past, a multitude of coloured suits and skin. The gentle green of vegetation in front of them contrasted starkly with the lake beyond.

'Yeah, about that,' Arlen began. He frowned hesitantly, his next words lingering on the cusp of his tongue before they could be coaxed out. 'I…wanted to say I'm sorry. For what I said before.'

Surprised, Nihlus raised his brows a fraction before again, he snuffed out the obvious emotion. 'I wondered why you contacted me after what happened the last time we met. What made you change your mind?'

Again, Arlen did not answer immediately. He took his time and measured his response.

'I learned about father. About what he did.' He looked up at Nihlus guardedly. 'Is that why you left? Because of Shanxi?'

The gentle trickling of fountains overtook the air as Nihlus held still, turning the long-forgotten memories over in his mind. He wished he could be like the Citadel, so quick to forget its misfortunes and pains. Certainly, his experiences as a Spectre had helped him to form a thick callus over his feelings but this was pain that had lain buried for a long time.

Its power, even after all these years, astonished him.

'It was one of many reasons,' he murmured, so quietly that Arlen had to edge closer to hear him. 'I left because I had started to match Renius' hatred with my own. Every word and blow he gave me, I returned. I…I realised I was becoming like Renius himself. I couldn't face that.'

The Presidium simply existed around them as they shared the moment, an isolated spot of emotion in the oblivious press.

Arlen moistened his lips. 'Did you ever think about coming back when he died?'

Nihlus' voice grew quieter still and he glanced at Arlen sorrowfully.

'Not a day went by where I didn't regret leaving you alone, brother. But I had chosen my path and by the time mother grew ill, I was living a life of isolation, even when I was surrounded by comrades. If I'd come back, it would only have brought back the past and everything that went with it. I couldn't do that to either of you.'

Nihlus' mouth hung slightly ajar and his fierce white markings shifted as he let out emotions that had remained seal away for decades.

'Mother was the one who told me to leave, after all. She was afraid that if I stayed, either I or Renius would be dead before long. I couldn't stand seeing that fear in her, Arlen. I couldn't. She loved us both, after all.'

Slowly, Arlen nodded, his eyes still drifting across the lake. 'Why didn't you just tell me?'

Clamping shut the doors on his feelings once more, Nihlus stiffened as he gathered himself.

'You didn't have to offer me your forgiveness, little brother. I made my decisions and I still carry them on my shoulders. I knew that when I left, when I chose to become an adult. Like me, you are now your own man. An impressive one, from the reports I’ve read.'

'Yeah,' Arlen snorted derisively. He flicked his head in the general direction of the connecting elevator to C-Sec headquarters. 'They called the whole thing a blackout, you know? Part of an ongoing systems malfunction that caused an explosion in a Presidium restaurant and a hull breach in the Council chamber itself.'

Curling his fingers into fists on his lap, Arlen looked down at them sombrely.

'Yanus has been imprisoned but his part in everything has been covered up, as if it never happened.'

Nihlus sighed softly, letting the sound hang in the air before responding.

'The people must be protected above all, Arlen. Protection means not only killing those that would do them harm but also safeguarding their peace of mind, their sense of security.'

He looked at Arlen, his gaze hard as it locked with his brother's.

'The greatest victories are those that no one will ever hear about. Never forget that.'

Nihlus stared at Arlen until he was certain his brother had grasped the true meaning of the words. Arlen bobbed his head and Nihlus was satisfied.

Standing, Arlen placed a hand on Nihlus' shoulder, the first sign of affection he had shown in over ten years.

'I won't. Thank you, brother.'

Swallowing gently, Nihlus nodded. 'Of course.'

He wondered why Arlen had risen and his brow plates pressed together curiously. 'Leaving already?'

'I…I have to meet someone,' Arlen replied distractedly. 'We'll talk again sometime, when the galaxy is a little less busy, all right?'

'Very well,' Nihlus agreed, though he knew their next chance for a meeting would not come any time soon.

The briefing dossier he had received only that morning from the Council still played on his mind and he longed to relay his excitement over the selection of the first human Spectre.

Allowing himself a subtle grin, he shook his head slightly. That information was too sensitive to share, even with family.

'I'll be in touch,' he said simply and rose to his feet.

The brothers gripped each other's wrists in a firm, affectionate gesture before turning to go their separate ways, immediately disappearing into the thin Presidium crowds

 

####  **~~~ME-I~~~**

 

The memorial was simple; a large sheet of stamped metal laid against the wall of the gutted restaurant, a temporary fixture until a more fitting one could be engraved.

It was a basic thing, with raised lettering spelling out the names of two dozen men and women and Arlen let his eyes rest on Amanda's name and rank, nestled between two others he did not know.

He knelt to place a collection of brightly-coloured flowers before it, only faintly aware of the crowd behind him as they wound their way along the Commons path. The flowers were quickly lost amongst the rest, so that Arlen could barely remember which ones were his when he rose to his feet.

His hands twitched awkwardly as he fumbled with the idea of placing them behind his back, or even clasping them in front of him. Neither position seemed to fit the moment.

In spite of his discomfort, Arlen’s eyes would not move from her name and his mouth shifted slightly, testing different phrases but after only a few seconds he clamped his jaw shut.

He'd heard the new memorial would be cut from rare stone, sourced from a mountain on Thessia. It was something the asari used only in siari temples and was meant to be a great honour, yet Arlen could not help but smile wryly at the thought of Keller's reaction to such a luxury.

She was not a complex person, after all. From the very beginning she’d been something solid for Arlen to lean against, to keep him moving on when his will wavered and his strength had fled him.

Her touch had been enough to carry him through the worst of his pain and discomfort, and when the shadows had taken hold of his mind, the mere thought of her was always enough to dispel them.

Tears began to flow silently and calmly down Arlen's cheeks, cooling quickly in the Presidium air.

She was the woman who had kept him alive, through all of it.

The vast, spacious Commons seemed to open around him, allowing Arlen a private moment of grief that he embraced without shame. The noise of the people fell away into nothing and even the weight of the armour on his chest was muted and distant as he silently wept.

'Thank you, Amanda,' he whispered. 'For everything.'

Though he couldn’t have been certain, he thought he could sense her smile on him. Her spirit was just as strong as it been in life, and he felt her arms snake around his waist, pulling her body into his.

His omni-tool chimed, drawing him blinking out of his thoughts.

'Yes, Petra?'

The AI's tone was calm and respectful. She knew how important the moment was to him and she kept her voice low.

'Sorry, Arlen but it's a message from the executor. He says there's an assignment waiting for you, if you're ready.'

Taking in a sharp breath through his nostrils, Arlen raised his head. The Presidium came back to him and his senses were strong once again.

'I'm ready,' he said before turning from the memorial and striding confidently into the crowd beyond.

 

 

#  **THE END**

 

 

####  **'Yanus has failed. The loose ends are many,' the salarian murmured as he stared out across the stars.**

####  **'What did you expect?' the human beside him sneered. 'He went off by himself like a loose cannon, thinking he could do it all alone. It was bound to happen, sooner or later.'**

####  **At the salarian's other shoulder, the asari spoke calmly, her lips glistening like azure wax as they moved. 'Our concern now lies with his empty seat. We must convene to elect a new commander at once.'**

####  **The human faced her, grinning slyly. 'Hoping to land the job yourself?'**

####  **'Enough!' the salarian snapped. Instantly, the smile disappeared from the human's lips.**

####  **Outside, the endless void of space was interrupted by the harsh lines of warships and when the salarian spoke again, his tone was cold. 'The League has suffered losses before. This is no setback. Gather the followers. We will select a fitting commander, and the empty seat will be filled. Have the prospectives stand by.'**

####  **Behind them, nine others murmured their agreement and the salarian turned to them, his long, black coat flowing behind him. His voice poured from his throat; an emotionless, seething drone.**

####  **'This insult will not go unpunished.'**


End file.
